Redeeming Cain
by Kaj-Nrig
Summary: The transition from era to era is often brutal and never without casualty. Though the age of vampires is ending, remnants continue to insist upon their own existence - but a whisper from the depths of history will prophesy: "We are all transient guests."
1. Chapter 1: Bounty Hunter

Redeeming Cain

By Kaj-Nrig

Notes/Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII is the sole property of Square Enix Co., Ltd. I claim none of its characters, scenarios, or affiliations as my own.

**Prologue: The Night Flies**

The woman pleaded with his mutilated mask, attempting at once to shield her young child and stave off his advance. He would have none of it. "No, please! I never asked for this! She's just a girl, for Christ's sake! Please!"

Ignoring her desperate protests, he grasped her flailing arm with his own and twisted, forcing a abrupt and painful cease to her cries. "Vampires will not be allowed to live," he muttered harshly, flinging her aside. With a cry of agony, the woman tore a table into pieces and continued into a tattered sofa, leaving the huddled girl alone under the gaze of the red death. He could smell the rank stench of terror on her face, and the tears streaming down her eyes nearly made him recall himself, but he brought the dull black pistol to bear on her small chest.

"P-Please," the young pale girl wept, attempting valiantly to quell her stuttering lips and shuddering arms. "Pl-please don't k-k-kill m-m-m-m-m..."

"It's nothing personal. You are meant to die," he replied, almost as if that were a suitable answer for her half-life. Suddenly, the girl's mother, her only parent left after her father's death at the hands of this red pestilence, rushed over from the mess of the couch, ignoring the throbbing rending of bone and muscle and organs and blood in her ribs and ligaments. The emptiness between them was less than two meters, but a flash of light tore through her throat and she tumbled unceremoniously to the already-bloody floor; chunks of skin, gore, and muscle sang in harmonious flight, peppering the walls and creating ripples in the puddles of cherry hues soaking into the ground. The woman tried to speak as she breathed through her neck, but only a sick hiss of expelled air came out.

Shrieking with terror, the pale, horrified, ghastly girl, with flickering sky blue eyes and diminutive canines, fumbled over to her mother's side. The red death clasped the hem of her shirt in his warped claw, tossing her small frame against the wall. With an anguished cry of pain, the girl squirmed futilely against the hand that pinned her. "NOOO! NOOO! MOMMY, NOOO!" she continued to yell intermittently, thrashing wildly and flailing her arms to reach-reach-reach for the still-twitching form laying face-down in a puddle of spreading cruor.

With methodical disregard for her irrelevant anguish, the masque of the red death continued throughout the room, and the crimson plague bore down to confront her eye to eye. "May you find joy in the next life, for there is none here," he muttered under her screaming, crossing the pistol once on her chest – up to down, left to right – and placed its final resting place where her life pulsed.

"MOMMA! COME BACK MOMMA COME BACK COME-"

**Chapter 1: Bounty Hunter**

The midnight moon shone harshly on the rocky crag of road that passed through the countryside. On one side, the forest glinted with the glow of unnatural beings, slinking through the gloom of night in search of unwary visitors. On the other side lay their trap – a sharp valley stretching from the plains of Nibelheim to the Midgar Ocean, carved out of the earth over eons by the ancient Gongaga River.

The inhuman cackle of beastly mutterings suddenly fell silent, leaving the night with an eerie, hushed silence that reeked of malice and tension. They were waiting for their next meal.

The traveler stood on the side of the road, staring down the two paths with equal interest – none. Next to it stood the long-abandoned map post, which displayed a half-rotted, centuries-old representation of the local area. Above the pine display were posted three oak street signs, though they were now unreadable and molding. The crimson-cloaked figure nodded as if it understood the indiscernible gibberish and stepped onto the road following the canyon.

The attack was instantaneous.

As if shattering the night air itself, the edge of the forest burst in a sonic boom, tearing trees out of the earth as a gardener would pluck vegetables, and was followed by the overpowering sound of the night howling as death took another prize. Within seconds, the road and forest edge were littered with crimson liquid so opaque they both seemed to be built of it.

The shrieks ended as quickly as they hard started, leaving the world once again wrapped in deathly silence. Crickets, though their wings itched to open and fill the world with their melodies, crouched lower into the blades of blood, gazing up at the fractured image of only a singular creature, one singular creature that glared into the horizon with eyes as red as a ruby and twice as bright.

The eyes of a vampire.

---

The town was built much like any other in the Outer Plate – with buckets and buckets of fear. Surrounding the large stone-and-wood shacks that served as shops and houses, a huge looming gate structure stretched up a story and a half, topped off by thin, towering spires that stabbed into the sky like ominous steel pitchforks. His eyes could faintly discern the eldritch etchings that had been engraved upon its dark and stone surface, designs that had once held an unimaginable power, and probably still did.

Giant crosses were emblazoned onto the wall at regular intervals, with one of the giant symbols lying above each entrance; it was a safeguard that, he knew from personal experience, was only partially effective. Branching from the fortress-like enclosure and to his left was a long gravel path that was swallowed up by the nearby forest, and he knew that the town's source of fear lay huddled somewhere in that forest.

Shrugging, he made his way into the open gates.

---

Father Michael Hebner shuddered as he lay huddled against the church doors, clutching the crucifix tightly in his white-knuckled grip. He stared in horror as something dark and whispery floated above the altar, above a small, simple pinewood coffin. A set of stands stood on opposite ends of the altar, each with half a dozen candles burning brightly, casting a perverted halo around its vicious form. The creature passed a nearly-indiscernible arm... or hand... or something over them, and the instant they were touched, the candles threw out a dramatic shower of sparks before snuffing out.

"D-Dear Father, Who art in Heaven-"

"-I BESEECH YOU TAKE ME FROM SIN AND KEEP ME IN YOUR KEEPING AMEN AMEN AMEN!" the apparition cackled, prattling a string of laughter in its wake. It focused its glaring blood eyes on his diminutive form, giggling almost girlishly at the cross in his hands, which looked small and insignificant even to him. "Ah, Father... Do you not know that the Lord has forsaken us?" it whispered seductively and began gliding to the door, its feet splayed back and rigidly cold.

The Father shrieked in terror and backed further into the door, causing it to buckle against its restraints. As the apparition languidly rode the air like a wave, it smiled a predatory smile, and poking through its teeth were twin fangs. Its red eyes narrowed to tiny vertical slits, like a cat. Father Hebner's screams broke down into silence and he felt a warm liquid seeping down his pants. He crashed into the doors again, terror and adrenaline erasing all memory of the door's lock and the key he had kept safely in his breast pocket.

"Ah, Father, why do you tremble so? It's me, your beloved parishioner... Melantha Crescent. Don't you remember me?" she sang, and suddenly he felt the light pull of her fingers – stiff, cold, and yet startlingly vibrant – on his cheek. His mouth opened to scream, but then there was a caress on the neck, and he saw the face of a midnight beauty, felt the darkness of her breasts pressing on him, smelled her sensuous earthen scent, and tasted the night's most forbidden fruit.

---

Townsfolk bustled around him in a flurry of action. Open-air shops were selling the day's freshest meat and produce, while others stepped in and out of buildings in search of various trinkets. In the center of town, throngs of people gathered around the large fountain to pray, eat, socialize, or all three. The fountain itself was a mesmerizing sight: the Son Jesus stood eternal watch on his cross as water poured from the stakes in his wrists and down his limp fingertips. His visage was that of a holy warrior, glaring with righteous fury in the direction of the forest.

He took careful pains to not look anybody directly in the eyes; it wouldn't do any good to have townsfolk recognize the trademark glow of vampire eyes in broad daylight, after all. _I have to find lodging and food,_ he remembered, and headed toward what looked to be a suitable foods stand.

Suddenly, from across the square, there was an ear-splitting crack as something blew apart. The townspeople gasped in shock, and after an instant of surprise, some began shuffling away from the local church, while others gathered in fascination. A sickening dread soon found its way into the pit of his stomach. _Well, at least the job's not scarce,_ he told himself. Clutching his cape closer to his body with his left hand, he began to rush to the scene. His right hand reached down and unclasped his handgun.

"Everybody move. Out of the way," he commanded in a calm but rushed tone. The church doors boomed loudly again as whatever was inside threatened to burst out. "Move, everybody move...!" Not minding the gasps and surprised exclamations, the hunter made his way to the front of the crowd, holding his handgun up to disperse the crowd.

Just as he made his way past the townspeople, another blast rocked the doors of the church, and this time they blew off their hinges. The dark apparition that flew out cackled with undisguised pleasure, screeching through the air at a blindingly fast pace in hopes of catching an unwary citizen. He didn't stop to face the creature, simply firing off a round and leaping over its falling body as he bounded into the church. There was movement to his right, and he swept the sight of his gun over to it.

Writhing in agony, his left hand desperately gripping a cross that was singeing the skin off, the priest howled in pain as he dipped a burnt right hand into a stand of holy water and splashed the side of his equally burnt face with it. On his neck were the marks of the vampire, and he splashed more of the divine substance on it, trying in vain to utter some sort of prayer; to him, it sounded like an attempt to recite the Act of Faith, but the words charred his throat as they came, and all that could be heard was nonsensical blubbering. Still, the fallen priest continued to pray, to clutch his crucifix with futile hope, to bless himself with holy water, until the hunter finally stood over him.

Well-built men were coursing in now, half of them to inspect the priest, and half to see who this strange and sudden new visitor was. "Jesus Christ, what happened to him!?" one of them exclaimed.

Staring up at his ungodly crimson eyes, the man beckoned to him with the cross in his hand, and continued to dab with increasingly weaker strength at the fang marks on his neck. As he stooped down and placed the barrel of his gun on the man's chest, he heard him whisper, "...may God forgive you..." before succumbing to the pain.

Emotionlessly, he crossed the priest, readying him for a return to dust. But as he gazed upon the man's crisped and smoking features, he stayed his hand. Pulling his own small crucifix out from under the hem of his jumpsuit, the traveler placed it squarely on Father Hebner's forehead and began reciting the prayer he'd started.

"Dear Father, my God, he firmly believes that you are one God. He believes your Son, the Father Jesus, died for man's sins. He believes His second advent draws nearer. He believes these and all truths that You teach, for You revealed them upon him, and You can neither deceive nor be deceived. He believes, Dear Father, he believes in You. Amen."

With that, he crossed the man once again with his hand, and gingerly lifted him off the ground. As he turned to the men that were now crowding the entrance, a young woman burst in. Her beauty caused him to pause momentarily in his step, and he was in awe.

Her eyes, a beautifully crafted golden brown, sparkled with concern under the light of the stained glass windows. Her luscious brown hair was tied back in a smooth and elegant ponytail. Her frame was slight and curvaceous at the same time, though it seemed to be so frail that it would break upon the touch. The air of the church lightened almost visibly when she stepped in. His breath caught in his throat, but he caught himself just as she rushed over to him.

"Father! Father Hebner! What happened!?" she sobbed, taking in the remarkable and repulsive burns on the entire right side of his face and neck. He suddenly felt deep shame and guilt running through his system; a woman as beautiful and innocent as her shouldn't have had to see the sight of her beloved church leader like this. When she saw the bite marks on his neck, she backed away in shock and despair, and he felt even more shame. Then she finally seemed to notice his presence and stared up at him, into his strangely luminescent eyes. But instead of reeling back in terror, she simply pleaded, "Please, you can't... please, don't kill him..."

Fighting the urge to pull her into his arms and soothe her worries, he replied calmly and coolly, "He's unconscious. Take him to rest." She nodded and the men behind her took his burnt body, some more hesitantly than others.

As he walked outside to examine the wraith's body, he felt her tug on his arm. Turning around, he watched her as she struggled for words. He could see a deep sadness playing across her features, but he couldn't understand why. "I... Thank you. For... saving my sister..." His eyes widened ever so slightly as understanding dawned on him. Looking back at the pale corpse of the woman, he noticed the sharp resemblance.

"...no thanks necessary," was his reply.

She nodded solemnly, and knelt down to examine her sister's dead body. "Are-"

A large man suddenly made his way past the crowd. "Move, move! Who the hell are you, stranger!?" he demanded as he pushed through the crowd of people. Though the young men who were previously in the church were helping scoot people back – they were most likely the town's police – it still took a while for the man to get into the clearing. When he did, he nearly leapt back into the crowd. "Jesus Almighty, what the hell is that!?"

The woman replied, "My sister, Mayor Foulke. She managed to awaken, and this man saved us." She looked back at the traveler and gave him a weak smile. He responded by holstering his firearm.

The mayor looked puzzled, but anger still weighed heavily on his mind. "This is Melantha? But wait a minute! It's still broad daylight out! How the hell could she awaken in the middle of the day!? You better tell me how something like this is possible, stranger!"

"Mayor, please! This man just saved the entire town! I think he deserves a little more than your blind suspicion!" she shouted. Mayor Foulke grumbled in a low voice to himself, obviously not pleased. The gunslinger shared this man's wonders; if a vampire victim could wake up in the middle of the day and still exhibit its powers of flight, then it meant that an extremely powerful vampire was at work. _But all the oldest vampires are dead now. This shouldn't be possible..._

"...fine. I apologize, stranger. These times have been... hard for us." He nodded, understanding very well what the mayor said. "Well, where's Father Hebner? I thought he was in charge of staking her." One of the men still in the church came out.

"Sheriff Weston and some other guys took him to the clinic. He was bit-"

"He was bitter at himself, Mayor. He said it was his fault that she managed to escape," she interrupted, smiling prettily at the young man. He looked perplexed, then nodded, smiled back, and returned to examining the church.

Mayor Foulke nodded, then turned to the crowd after some deep thinking. "Okay, folks. Everything's over, let's get back to our business. She's dead, she's dead, yes, we'll bury her later, c'mon, let's go..." At his words, the people finally dispersed, though some stared longingly back at the scene.

The gunman, staring at the blue and black body of Melantha Crescent, knelt down and examined the gunshot wound in her chest. It had gone straight into her heart, which was good. So why hadn't the body started decaying yet? _This is going to be hard._

The woman next to him turned to him, that cheerful yet sad expression on her face. Now he knew why she was saddened. "Say, you wouldn't happen to be a hunter, would you?" He nodded and continued examining the body – the fangs were disappearing, at least. "Are you staying long?"

"Just for the night."

"...oh..."

"She needs to be buried before nightfall. If not, there's a chance she will come back as a wraith," he explained quietly, bringing his hand to curl under Melantha's neck. He considered for a while, then decided that enough people weren't looking and brought his left hand out from hiding. As he lifted her body up, he noticed the woman's eyes fixated on his golden appendage. "No need to worry." He made his way inside, and she followed.

"Oh, I didn't mean to stare. I'm sorry..." Her voice trailed off as she examined the church. It was almost unchanged, save for a few broken benches along the center aisle. He laid her sister to rest in the coffin and closed it again, crossing the face of it before turning to leave.

"Where's the clinic?" he requested, taking careful pains not to fix his eyes on her. She had a way of distracting him.

Without a second thought, she grabbed his claw and led him out of the church and into the town square. "It's up the road to the northwest. My house is also up there..." She paused, embarrassed.

"What's the problem?"

"I... I need your help, but I don't have nearly enough money to hire services like yours."

"If this vampire wanted your sister, it may also want you. Payment isn't a matter of discussion until after this vampire is destroyed. I just need a place to stay," he answered, somewhat surprised at the uncharacteristically generous offer he had just proposed. The woman perked up at once and beamed at him. It was strange, as her happiness cause himself to feel something quite joyful.

"Of course I have room! I live by myself... well, my sister used to live with me..." He nodded and began in that direction. She followed closely, and they made their way up the road, easily ignoring the sets of eyes that stared at them and the hushed whispers that circulated. "Say..." she began, "...we don't even know each other's names yet. I'm Lucrecia."

"...you can call me Vincent."

"Vincent... That's a nice name. Nice to meet you, Vincent."

He was quiet.

**Chapter 1 End**

A/N: So yeah, I've been not writing for about... half a year now. Blame my muse. (Please don't; I don't have one.)

Many of you may notice the uncanny similarity to Vampire Hunter D. And I must admit, that's what got me started on this idea. Or if not, it sure had a big influence. Don't worry though; she's not gonna be throwing herself at Vincent in a big schmex-fest. And no, she doesn't have a younger brother. And also no, Vincent's metallic hand doesn't have a face on it that talks to him.

And I'd intended to introduce a familiar FFVII element in the short church encounter, but I s'pose I'll leave that for later.

**Notes:**

- The prologue draws heavily from Edgar Allan Poe's "The Masque of the Red Death". Not in its staging and setup, per se, but just in the descriptions of Vincent.

- "Melantha" is Greek in origin and means "dark violet/flower." "Lucrecia" is Latin in origin, and has varying meanings, including "brings light" or "full of light."

- Mayor Foulke's name comes from Larry "Pixy" Foulke, your wingman in Ace Combat Zero: The Belkan War.

Sheriff Weston – I asked my siblings what a good "Western movie" name would be for a sheriff. Among the first were "Nelson," "Montgomery," and "MacDonald." The first didn't sound gung-ho enough, the second was straight from one of my sister-in-law's romance novels, and the last was "too Alabama," as my brother put it. Weston sounded fairly decent. Incidentally, I have a friend whose last name is Weston.

"Dear Father, my God … he believes in You. Amen." – One of the most common Catholic acts of faith.


	2. Chapter 2: Priest of Broken Faith

Redeeming Cain

By Kaj-Nrig

Notes/Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII is the sole property of Square Enix Co., Ltd. I claim none of its characters, scenarios, or affiliations as my own.

**Chapter 2: Priest of Broken Faith**

The walk to the clinic was mostly silent; the initial shock and attraction he had felt for his new client was now almost completely gone, and with it went his unusually talkative demeanor. She had sensed this and, after asking only a few questions, conceded to the silence. Outside the main bustle of the village, small and simple houses peppered the gently sloping landscape; each was constructed of durable wood or brick, and interconnecting every other pair of houses or so was a moderately sized chunk of farmland. He noticed with mild interest that the fields were filled with a variety of grapes, from clusters of the small, sweet variety to the gargantuan melon-sized fruit. Apparently this place specialized in wines.

The young woman named Lucrecia led him only a short distance from the town square before stopping at the largest building of the area. This one was a rarity in that it was constructed almost completely out of some sort of metal or plastic. It easily covered the area of two or three houses, and Vincent could only attribute that to the extra room needed to host storage and examination rooms. There was a wooden fence surrounding this one, as well, though its waist height was obviously only intended to keep animals away. Still, a fair share of crosses was strewn along its surface, as well.

Once inside, he immediately knew that the doctor was a well-respected one in town. The clinic was incredibly well-kept for such a large building, and everything was well-organized. The main desk greeted the visitors, and from there a large hallway led to the center of the building, which in turn branched off to the other wings of the clinic. Light wasn't provided by candle or kerosene lamp but by a completely windowed roof that allowed sunlight to pour in all day. Light bulbs were also fixed to the walls, which indicated that there was an electric generator somewhere nearby, possibly a water-powered mill by the Gongaga River or some sort of natural gas source. Regardless, the fact that only this clinic was allowed to use it meant that the doctor was, on top of being respected, also extremely rich.

A young man greeted them hastily after they rang the bell at the main desk and, immediately recognizing Lucrecia, led them to the emergency room, where Father Hebner was strapped onto an elongated operating table. Sunlight shone in from overhead, and the doctor was probing his horribly burnt flesh as well as the two puncture wounds on his neck. Lucrecia paled slightly at the sight, but gingerly spoke up, "Doctor Fisher, is he going to be alright?"

Her request was met with a quick shushing hand as he continued to examine the priest. As he worked, he told her offhandedly, "Well, my dear..." He grabbed a swab from a nearby tray. "...his wounds are like nothing I've ever dealt with before." With a gentle touch, he dabbed at the edges of the bite wounds, collecting holy water, blood, and hopefully some spittle from the wraith. "I've never heard of a priest..." Groping around for some sort of tube, he grasped it and placed the swabs into it. "...whose belief was so strong in the faith. I heard that he fought the curse until he passed out." Retrieving a thin rod and some small puffs of cotton, he proceeded to wrap the wispy material around the rod. "Father Hebner truly is a man of the Lord. It's very much a shame that he will have to die." Without warning, Doctor Fisher jabbed the rod into Father Hebner's neck and twisted.

"Doctor, what do you think you're doing!?" Almost immediately, he wrenched the rod back out, the cotton now stained a deep vermilion. Grimacing at the gore on it, he quickly flicked it into another small tube and apologized absentmindedly to Lucrecia.

"I should have been more prudent; that certainly isn't a sight a young lady would like to see." He said it with a calm indifference, though; he hadn't so much as looked in their direction, and before the last syllable was spoken, he was already once again examining the priest's scorched body, this time scrutinizing his hands. Nodding to himself, he reached for a pad of paper and began jotting down notes.

Vincent glanced cursorily at Lucrecia, to gauge her reaction. She, for her part, seemed relatively composed, though somewhat in shock from what she had just seen. "Hm... yes, yes, of course... oh, how interesting..." the doctor mumbled to himself, turning the burnt hand this way and that, switching glances from limb to face. His callous apathy only seemed to further confound Lucrecia; she seemed on the verge of speaking, but held her tongue in expectation of an explanation. Without a word, Vincent grated the fingers of his left hand together, and the rusty grate of metal on metal urged Doctor Fisher to recall their presence. "Oh, I thought you had already departed. What is it?" Again, he kept his back to them, focusing on his duty.

_Prick._ It was an unusually base thought for him, but he named the doctor as the fault. Or it could've been the demons inside his head.

"Um..." she began, obviously flustered. "W-why did you just... do that, Doctor?"

"I wanted to get some blood samples directly from the point of contact."

"I... I understand, Doctor, but..."

"Do not worry about it, my dear... oh, how curious... I did not harm him in any way." As if this were explanation enough, he kept quiet once again. Lucrecia turned to Vincent, obviously wanting to know more.

With a harsh scrape of his metal-plated boot against the floor, Vincent made his presence known. "She wants to know if he will survive."

At the command, Doctor Fisher made an about-face. Obviously startled, he answered, "O-oh, my apologies, sir. I didn't know you were here as well, you were so quiet." After quickly scanning him up and down, though, the doctor returned just as nonchalantly to the holy man on the table. "I should think there's a..." He turned his attention to the left hand and immediately began to remove the melted cross metal from his palm. "...a rather apparent answer to that. He will change." Having said that, he finally turned to place his full attention on them.

He was a somewhat tall, gaunt man, with a mess of brown hair and little in terms of muscles. His long, corpse-like frame was encased in a tight shell of skin; the acne-ridden flesh pulled taut against the contours of his face, and his lips were nearly the same shade of earth-flaked tan as his skin. All in all, he seemed to be the type of person that would be more comfortable around books than surgery utensils.

"But... isn't there anything you can do, Doctor?" demanded Lucrecia desperately, tears brimming in her eyes and her hand clutched to her chest like it would burst open.

Doctor Fisher laughed heartily, pounding the long, delicate fingers of his right hand against his quadriceps, imitating a dancing skeleton. "Do? Certainly, there are things I can DO, Miss..."

"Crescent, Doctor. Lucrecia Crescent."

"Ah, so YOU'RE Miss Crescent, eh? You're just as beautiful as they say. So tell me," he asked, leaning forward in abject anticipation, like a child listening to a fairy tale, "how did your sister, ah, ah... Melantha, how did she turn?" His eyes seemed to bulge out of their sockets, a startling feature stressed by the shadows that formed from his deeply-inset eyelids.

"I-I beg your pardon?"

"When did you realize she was turning? Was she acting abnormally at all, preferring raw meat over cooked, developing sensitive skin, such things as that?"

Lucrecia fell back in shock and horror. "Doctor!" she yelled, startled and hurt. "My sister is dead! That's hardly appropriate!"

He nodded absently, waving her to calm down. "Yes, yes, I apologize. I was simply asking for the sake of scientific research."

"When will he wake up?" asked Vincent curtly, causing the doctor to once again flinch at his icy tone. "I would like to speak to him."

"Ah, yes, sir, well... I'm afraid I can't answer that question, as I've never dealt with a vampire victim before. I'm sure you know more about them than I do, Mister..." He ignored the question and made his way to the table, much to the chagrin of Doctor Fisher. "Sir! You can't just waltz up to a patient whenever you feel so inclined!"

"And you have the right to poke and prod him like a piece of cattle." Stopping by the priest's head, Vincent rudely pushed the doctor out of the way and crossed himself once before reaching for his cross. "Blessed Father, Who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy Name. Thy Kingdom come. Thy Will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give Your son this day his daily bread, and forgive him his trespasses, as he forgives those who trespass against him. Lead him not into temptation, but deliver him from evil. Amen." He kissed the cross and pressed it to Father Hebner's forehead. There was a small hiss of singeing flesh, and when he pulled away, a crucifix was burned into the priest's skin. Turning to the doctor, he stated in a cool, serious tone, "He will awaken in three hours. Be finished with your 'observations' by then, Doctor." Passing one last glare at him, Vincent returned to his position beside Lucrecia.

"O-of course, of course! My skills are of the highest caliber in all of the Outer Plate!" Without Vincent invading his space, the doctor returned to his scrutiny, almost immediately disregarding the two visitors yet again.

"Uh... well, I suppose we should get going, then. Th-thank you, Doctor," Lucrecia announced and hastily made for the large double doors.

He followed quickly and quietly after, and as they exited the operating room, they heard Doctor Fisher say, "Oh, if you would, the boy up front will be taking payment for the Father's basic operating fees."

------

Hardly anyone lived out on the Outer Plate, and of those that did, none chose to venture more than an hour's walk from the heavily-gated walls of the local town center. With looming walls of granite and marble, the circular expanse was etched with massive crosses and prayers were painted onto its surface with holy water. At every nook and cranny were found slips of paper with prayers written upon them; upon touching the wall, monsters and beasts would ignite these blessed sheets and holy fire would burst forth instantly.

Outside the walls, life was much harsher, and only the truly brave or truly impoverished found themselves fending for their lives in these vast, endless fields. Many tried to provoke the same sense of security that those in the inner cities were privy to, constructing shams of fences with wholly decorative wooden crosses that couldn't ward off even the most meager of animals. Those who either chose or were forced to live furthest from civilization often ended up dead or otherwise damned, and they were often referred to as "the devil's supper" by those that lived under God's protective walls.

Of course, that wasn't to say that everything beyond the town walls was desolate. On the contrary, the seldom-farmed soil of the Outer Plate was rich with nutrients, and farming almost any sort of crop in almost any part of the Outer Plate proved to be easy and feasible. If someone were lucky enough to survive the five-month farm season, he would have more than his fair share of wealth upon the cultivation and selling of his produce. And with the slow advance of mankind and its knowledge of the world, this hazardous lifestyle was slowly becoming easier and easier to withstand.

Gazing into the lip of that dark forest, though, the residents of Asgard wouldn't have believed such a thing.

------

They made it to Lucrecia's home in only a few short minutes; the large property was located alarmingly close to the foreboding forest, and Vincent found it strange that Lucrecia and her sister had chosen to live in such an ominous estate. As they crested the final gentle slope, though, the evidence laid itself before him: massive herds of cattle roamed the rolling hills, fenced into a not-too-small area which also contained moderately-sized buildings. The fencing enclosed at least ten acres of the lush, fertile Outer Plate grass, and the sizable beasts grazed it with carefree abandon. "You're a cattle rancher," he asked out loud.

"No," she corrected. "None of them are mine. They belong to those in town, mainly to Mayor Foulke. I give them a place to stay, that's all." As they reached the gate, he noticed the curious lack of holy protection along the wood and chicken wire perimeter. Noticing the path of his eyes, she commented, "When Melantha was attacked, the vampire tore all the crosses down. I haven't put them back up since, because I thought it would only make it come back sooner."

"Hm." As they passed through it, he felt a cold chill spread through his limbs like a quick, blazing flare of ice. Frowning as the feeling suckled on his nerves, Vincent removed the small crucifix from his breast pocket and touched it to the wood. Instantly, the day suddenly seemed to brighten and the smell of farm and country returned. He was shocked. _A curse was laid on this house, and I didn't detect it..._ Something lingered in the air, though, something... peculiar. Earthy and irritating, maybe even acrid.

"Don't mind the farm smell," Lucrecia replied, leading him up the dirt path to the main house. "Stay a few days, and you'll get used to it." Almost immediately, a look of concern showed on her face and she quickly stammered, "I-I mean... I'm sorry, that was rude of me."

"No worries. Why work as a cattle keeper?"

She was happy to change the subject, and her happiness was very contagious; he found himself pleased, uncustomary as it was. _She's just a woman,_ he chided. Still, she was very tempting. Before, he wouldn't have hesitated to visit her bedroom and-

"...that I have an ability to keep them under control." She paused. "Of course, they're only dumb animals. I'm sure you could handle them with much more ease."

He shook his head, for some reason desperate to please this beautiful woman. "In my previous life, I ran away from home because I didn't enjoy herding cattle." Falling hard, he was. Falling hard and he'd just met the poor woman. _Wait 'til she realizes what I really am,_ that ever-present demon whispered to him.

"Oh? And what else did you do in your previous life, Vincent?" The way his name fell from her lips sounded like divine justice. He suddenly wanted her to say it again. To scream it. Again and again.

But he stayed silent, and she nodded in understanding. "This is the main house," she said, pointing to the small, single-level house. It was built almost exactly like every other house that dotted the surrounding hills – a squat, long house made of clay and wood, with a front window and a thatched, triangular roof. "That," she continued, pointing to the right of the house in the direction of a large, sheet-metal building, "is where we... where I feed the cows their medicine. They're smart enough to know when to come get it themselves. We- I mean I just have to worry about refilling the troughs every other day. The medicine," she said, swinging her long, graceful finger to acknowledge a large silo directly behind the house, "is located in that silo." The brief tour finished, she stepped up to the front door and unlocked it, beckoning him inside.

Inside, the walls of the main hallway were adorned with very little, a pure off-white. To the immediate right of the entrance, which Vincent blessed quietly as he entered, lay the living room. In it were two small couches, one facing the window and the other on the wall facing them. Pictures of men and women – he recognized Melantha's face in one of them, and assumed the others were either deceased or long-gone relatives – hung in this room in scarce but evenly-spaced positions. "This is the living room," she announced, shyly sweeping to encompass it, before continuing on. The end of the hallway teed off, the right leading to a cozy kitchen, complete with small kitchen table, and the left leading to another passage with three rooms. "To the right's the kitchen. I'll get to work on getting you something to eat in a bit," she commented, winking lightheartedly at him (and oh, how he wanted to take her then) and led him down the second hallway, "but let's finish the tour first. This is my room." Saying this, she almost blushed. _Cute._ After a quick survey, though – there was only one window, and it was small enough that the most dangerous of predators couldn't get in – they moved on. The second room was the lavatory.

"This..." she said quietly as they reached the final door. "This is... Melantha's old room. It- excuse me." She turned away for a moment and composed herself; Vincent felt compelled to wrap her in his arms and comfort her for all eternity. After a moment or two of reconstitution, she continued, "It's yours to use during your stay here. It's well-furbished, and although she was bitten here-"

Vincent immediately shook his head. "This room is cursed with the vampire's aura. No one will find rest in there except the one that was bitten. Especially not one like me; hunters that sleep in a vampire victim's room have constant nightmares throughout the night, and even when they leave, the vampire's curse will stay with them, and unless they are strong in spirit, they will lose their soul to the curse. I'll sleep in the living room."

When he looked at the young, brown-haired woman, he felt sick to his stomach at himself at seeing the look of restrained horror on her face. "R-really... I-I'm sorry, I should've known..." _Don't be sorry. You're too beautiful to be sorry._

"Don't be sorry, Ms. Crescent. You had no reason to know." As an afterthought, he added, "Is the tour over, then?"

"Oh! Yes, Vincent, yes. Please, make yourself at- By the way, where WILL you sleep, then?"

"The living room is fine."

"Oh... okay, then. If you're sure..."

"I'm sure."

She smiled, and it seemed to him like he could die at that moment and regret nothing he'd ever done... none of it. "In that case, I'll get right on your meal."

--------

They had just finished eating when Sheriff Weston knocked on Lucrecia's door. "Excuse me," she said before heading to answer the door. Vincent took in another small forkful of the light salad, his plate still nearly full. He still hadn't fully accustomed himself to eating again; he had to constantly remind himself to finish his meals or risk the danger of starvation. _When you go so long without requiring it, I suppose it does start to rust a bit._

Thrumming the fingers of his golden claw lightly against the tabletop, Vincent listened intently to the conversation in the other room. _Want to talk to me, do you?_ He noted dryly that it shouldn't have come as any sort of surprise. It wasn't every day that a vampire hunter was required in a village. It was even less often that a vampire hunter was available. And it was even less often than that that a vampire hunter had his unique... _Traits._ He got up and went to meet this Sheriff Weston.

"I understand what you're saying, Lucrecia, but I still have to talk to him. The whole town's grateful for his help, there's no doubt about that, but that doesn't mean we can't be a bit suspicious. After all, how often do hunters come here? The last time-" Sheriff Weston's words trailed off to deaf ears. He locked eyes with the large sheriff as he made his way to the door. Lucrecia followed the sheriff's eyes and turned around, surprised to see Vincent so close to her.

"Vincent! Um, th-this is-" she began, but he simply came up next to her and kept his gaze on the gun-toting constable.

"Would you like to talk outside, Sheriff?" Sheriff Weston nodded grimly, tipping his hat to Lucrecia before backing from the door. "Excuse me, Ms. Crescent." When she protested, he calmly responded, "He's only here to talk. He won't try to force me to leave."

"Why? How do you know that, Vincent?" The twinge of panic in her voice made him ache. Again, the way she said his name...

"Because the townspeople wouldn't appreciate losing a hunter at a time like this." After a short break, she nodded and he made his way outside. In the yard, Sheriff Weston kept his right hand rested precariously on the top of his magnum, the holster unbuttoned. "I won't bite," Vincent said dryly, but that only made the Sheriff press that much more tightly against the side of the revolver grip.

"They don't look it now, but I saw your eyes glow inside. What's your explanation for that, Sir hunter?" The beefy man rested his back on the wooden fence, deceptively casual.

"Birth defect."

"Bullshit. Only vampires have eyes that glow like yours do. A hunter with hunted eyes? Seems awfully convenient to me."

"Have you seen a vampire, then?" There was silence, and he could see the man's anger steadily building. "Why did you come?"

The sheriff shifted uneasily, then sighed and finally released his death hold on the firearm. "I came to ask you about the incident this afternoon."

"You were there."

"But I didn't see the damn thing happen, okay!?" he shouted, then forcibly calmed himself again. "Forgive me, Sir hunter. I want to thank you for saving us from that creature. If you're willing, I'd like to know what you saw happened."

"I arrived in town, the vampire escaped, I killed it. The Father had been bitten." This last statement made Sheriff Weston look up, almost as if he were alarmed. Then he nodded again, sadly, remorsefully. Father Hebner's ill fate apparently had yet to fully strike the man.

"...is that it?" He nodded affirmative. "Okay, then. Again, thank you. I didn't mean to antagonize you."

"No worries."

--------

They visited Doctor Fisher's clinic a few hours later, with the sun just shy of striking the Nibel mountains to the west, the jagged mountain range that separated the Plates from the Midgar Ocean – complete with teeth-like mountain peaks that covered the entire western coast like the jaw of some monstrous predator. As Vincent had promised, Father Hebner was now fully conscious, though sedated and wracked with agony. Bandages covered much of his arms and torso, and a soft fabric was wound around his neck. The entire right side of his face was viciously burned, but it seemed to have healed rather well in the four-hour time span, now only a disfigured purple hue.

"Father! Oh, Father Hebner, you're alive!" Lucrecia exclaimed as she rushed into the room and threw herself on top of the hurting priest. He welcomed her with undiluted joy through pained groans and yelps as she brushed up against the most sensitive of his injuries. She apologized profusely and took the chair next to him, tears falling unabated down her cheeks. "I was so worried about you! I knew I shouldn't have asked you to do so much for me!" Vincent took his own seat by the door, biding his time patiently.

"Rest easy, Lucrecia, dear," he responded in an old, somewhat raspy voice. "If this physical pain is all that I suffer in order to serve God's will, then it is truly such a small price to pay. Is it not, Lucrecia?" She nodded and nodded as she wept and pressed her forehead to his left hand. "Do not weep, child. Here, let us recite the twenty-third Psalm, and let God lead us." And both began:

"The Lord is my shepherd;

I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures;

He leadeth me beside the still waters.

He restoreth my soul;

He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness

For His name's sake.

Yea, for though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

I shall fear no evil;

For Thou art with me;

Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of my enemies;

Thou anointest my head with oil;

My cup runs over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me

All the day of my life;

And I will dwell in the house of the Lord

Forever."

As they finished, Vincent crossed himself and placed his lips to his cross before making his way up to Father Hebner's bed. "Father," he stated curtly. Both Father and Parish looked up curiously at him, momentarily surprised.

"You..." The old priest stammered, his eyes gazing thoughtfully into Vincent's. "You were the one at the church. So... I assume you're under young Lucrecia's employment now?" He nodded silently. _She can employ me to do anything._ "Not a man of very many words, is he, Lucrecia?"

"No, Father. Not too many," she answered with something not unlike a twinge of laughter. Father Hebner shared in her merriment until a harsh bout of liquid-filled coughing forced him to cease.

"Ah," he sighed at last, settling back into the white-sheeted bed. "Lucrecia, dear, would you be so kind as to leave us for a moment? I would like to speak to..."

"Vincent."

"...to Vincent alone."

"Of course, Father." She nodded and left, offering a shy, sensual, lascivious, infinitely tempting smile to him as she passed him. He watched her smooth, beautiful hips sway ever so slightly as she exited the room, watched her firm buttocks with restrained lust.

"She's quite a sight to behold, isn't she?" Vincent caught himself and immediately turned to face the elderly priest.

"My apologies, Father-"

"No need to apologize, Mr. Vincent. She gets more than her fair share of envious glances each day. From women as well as men. But, be it far from me to waste your precious time." Father Hebner strained to raise himself to a half-sitting position, and Vincent rushed over to help the old man up. Nodding to him, the Father noted, "Thank you, thank you. Now, please, sit down." Vincent did as such. "So..."

The silence lasted for a few pensive moments. Vincent waited, patient, as the Father passed a hand back and forth across the two distinct indentations on his neck. Back and forth. Back and forth. _It must be hard._ At least he, Vincent, had had the luxury of being a follower and not a leader.

Finally, Father Hebner asked, "What happened to Melantha?" His voice cracked at the last syllable, and though the priest fought hard to hide it, Vincent could see it, see it so clearly because he had once dealt it. The Father had been tempted, seduced by the most powerful of all dark creatures, and he had found himself powerless to fight back. Even with all his faith, all his holiness, he hadn't been able to resist temptation. He had tasted of the darkness, and to his shame, he had enjoyed it.

"She was buried earlier. Her body will return to the Lifestream." There was no need to speak of where her soul would go.

"I... I will change, won't I?" There it was, the inevitable question. He nodded passively, though he felt a pang of empathy for the old man. "I see." He suddenly began to weep, quietly but woefully, his depression at its fullest, his curse gorging itself on him. "All of my life... All of my life, I have worked diligently to please God, to live out His vision. When I took up the task of returning her to dust, I believed it was a test He was putting me through. But..." He shook his head. "...but I was powerless to stop her. In all my faith, all my diligence, my Father saw fit to turn away in my most trying time. Have I..." Another quiet sob broke out, but he was too distraught to even close his eyes, much less wipe the tears away, and the salty trickles flowed freely down his cheeks. "Have I been wrong all along?"

"...Father, you prayed with Ms. Crescent. 'Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil; for Thou art with me.' Correct?"

"Yes, yes, but that was just a sham. My dear Lucrecia is a faithful member of my parish; I cannot simply disillusion her-"

"When I found you, Father, you were burning yourself with holy water. The holy cross was etched into your palm. I have never, in all my life, seen anyone fight the curse as you did." Father Hebner finally looked deeply at him, and he finally saw the shimmering ruby colors of Vincent's eyes, their hauntingly beautiful colors, and realization began to dawn on him. _I have never seen anyone fight the curse as you did. And I have lived a very long time._ "You are still in the valley, Father. This is not death. God has not forsaken you just yet."

"...you... you managed to... you somehow..."

"If one such as I could walk through the valley for as long as I have and still returned, I don't doubt that your faith will guide you even further, Father."

**Chapter 2: Priest of Broken Faith END**

A/N: This story's a very fun one to write. Aside from being entertaining for me, it also provides me with great incentive to learn more about Christianity and Christian myths. Anyway, review, criticize, curse me to hell and back, but whatever you do, have fun doing it. Oh, and some changes have been made to Chapter 1.

Ciao, and thanks for reading this far.

**Notes:**

Doctor Justinian Fisher – Justinian comes from the Roman emperor. Fisher comes from Fisher Price. Courtesy of a friend.

"Blessed Father, Who art in heaven … deliver him from evil. Amen." – The Lord's Prayer, a common Christian (and particularly Catholic) prayer. The way Vincent recites it is actually incorrect – all instances of "he/his/him" [in reference to Father Hebner are customarily recited as "we/our/us," as this prayer is more commonly a group prayer.

"With looming walls … slips of paper with prayers…" – A reference to the Western Wall (the "Wailing" Wall) in Jerusalem. The Western Wall is the last known remnant of the Second Temple, sometimes called Solomon's Temple, which was destroyed by the Romans in 70 CE/AD (what appears to be part of an "Eastern Wall" of this temple was discovered just recently, on August 30, 2007). Jews that travel to this wall traditionally place papers with prayers and wishes written on them in the cracks and crevices of the Western Wall.

(Subnote - _BC_ stands for _"Before Christ,"_ which is common knowledge. However, not many people know that _AD_ does NOT stand for _"After Death"_ (as in the death of Jesus Christ), but _"Anno Domini,"_ meaning _"year of our Lord."_ _"Anno"_ is the Latin root for the word "annual." _"Domini"_ means "ruler, king, lord, etc.," and it's where we get "domination, dominion, etc." Furthermore, _"BCE/CE"_ has been popping up recently, and it means _"Before Common Era/Common Era."_ It's identical in every sense to the BC/AD calendar, and I'm fairly sure it was only developed as a way of being more politically correct.)

Asgard – The town in which this story takes place, named after the mythical realm of the gods in Norse mythology. (In comparison, Midgard is the realm of mortals.)


	3. Chapter 3: The First Night Prelude

Redeeming Cain  
By Kaj-Nrig

Notes/Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII is the sole property of Square Enix Co., Ltd. I claim none of its characters, scenarios, or affiliations as my own.

**Chapter 3: The First Night (Prelude)**

"Say... what are you doing?" Lucrecia asked quite sweetly, quite innocently. It made his heart ache. _If I want her, I know she wouldn't mind me putting my hands on her._ He bit his tongue at the thought, but it was true. He wanted to pin her down to the mattress, rip her clothes off, and make her scream for more, more, more-

"Blessing the house entrances."

And he could smell the lust, faint and suppressed, emanating from her like some sort of sweet drug. She tried so hard to keep it hidden, and that only made him want her more. _Do it, do it, do-_

He pulled out a small vial from a vest pocket and stood at the front entrance of the house. "St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the devil. O Prince of the heavenly hosts, by the power of God, thrust into hell all the evil spirits who prowl about the world, seeking the ruin of souls. Amen." Three streaks of the clear liquid splashed against the wood and disappeared, and he immediately moved into the kitchen, repeating the same mantra on the small kitchen window.

Lucrecia had sat down on the couch, busying herself with some sort of task involving paper, thread, and a needle, and as he passed into the other hallway, he noticed that the desires rising from her, the slight blush, the swelling of her breasts, the heat radiating from below her stomach were all diminished, almost completely gone. _Good._ She was already serving as a good diversion; to have her jumping on him would only make matters worse.

Stepping into her room, he suddenly felt dizzy, almost drunk. Her smell was everything here – it rested in her bed, it brushed against the nightstand, it hung in the walk-in closet, it twisted around the window latch. Shaking his head clear of the delirious drug, Vincent quickly rushed over to the window, recited, "St. Michael, defend us in battle, Amen," lined the wood with blessed water, and rushed back out, trying to keep all the blood in his body from rushing to his head and groin.

The next room, the lavatory, went quickly; there was only a small circular skylight that lit the room, and vampires never entered a house through such... undignified means. _Crazy old fucks, the bunch of us._

As he approached the room of the deceased Melantha, however, Vincent felt a very real chill crawl through his spine. He knew from experience just how gruesome a curse like the one placed upon this room was. Many an unwary traveler had perished at his hands, but only after they had been forced with complete sight of the demonic realm and were made unable to distinguish between the living and the dead. Grimacing, he emptied the remaining three quarters of the bottle onto the floor in front of the door. "The power of Christ compels you, the blood of Christ compels you, and the Gospel of Christ compels you."

There was a hiss...

"Keeeeeeeeeee!" It ran up and snatched at him, howling in the quiet hallway as its fiery tentacles thrashed at him. He tumbled down the hallway, and when he got up, the tower of fire popped, cracked, and howled, almost as if it were laughing at him. His cape had caught on fire, and he quickly snuffed it out. Eyeing the wailing fire, Vincent drew the cross out in front of him.

"Feel the holy fire of the Lord upon you, demon, corrupter of souls!" he whispered, letting the silver crucifix reflect the fiery and otherworldly light.

"hoooly... fiiiiire?" the gout of ebony and auburn echoed, its voice a shrill, raspy, dry thing. "...yessss... but noooot... nooooot G- G- G-" The name caused it excruciating pain, and the swirling tower pulsed, each time growing smaller and weaker. "Fiiiiiiiiire... of SataaAAN! Keeeeeeee!" The fire chortled, twists of flame spitting out at him, sparking in the ephemeral space.

Snarling, he took a step toward the fiery mass. "Choke on the name of the Father, cursed one! Choke and remove yourself from the presence of God's child! Part! Part, like the Red Sea did to Moses under guidance from the Almighty Lord! PART!" And as he came within arm's reach of it, the fire that bore no heat, it instantly gaped open, swirling around his arm with envy and hatred as he destroyed it. "I tell you again, demon! PART! In the name of the Lord!" And then, howling and screeching curses and wraths, the apparition dissipated. With a heavy breath, Vincent wrapped his rosary around the doorknob of the cursed room.

_This vampire will be a definite challenge._ He had never seen a curse act like that before. Only the Elders had had even a remote chance of doing such a thing, and they had died so long ago.

--------

When he returned to the living room, dusk had passed and the world was completely shrouded in darkness. Lucrecia was still on the couch, nervous and intimidated as she gazed out into the encroaching darkness. Upon his footsteps, though, she visibly calmed and set down her sewing kit. He glanced at it – she had sewn an intricate and highly-detailed crucifix onto the paper – as he came into the room, and quietly refused her proffered cup of tea. "Did you hear anything just now?" he asked, sitting down next to her... but a respectful two body lengths away.

"Hear? Such as?"

"Forget it." She looked at him, concerned, and he almost melted under her gaze and confessed, but he shook his head instead. "It's nothing."

They sat there, both of them uncomfortable and excited, nervous and enticed. Misty steam from the two cups filtered up in a dizzying, alluring dance, reminding him all the more that they were the only two in the house, that there was no one else within shouting distance, that he could easily-

"You should get some sleep."

"Hm?" she whispered back, lazily swiping at her drooping eyes.

"You need all the rest you can get. Go; I promise I'll watch you." This caused her to blush profusely, and he berated himself without abandon. _Don't get attached, you stupid, stupid idiot._

"Um, actually..." She continued to look away, but that blush on her cheeks still wasn't going anywhere else. "...I... I was hoping I could sleep here... with you." Immediately after those words escaped her lips, she gasped and scrambled to correct herself. "I-I mean...! I mean... I'm scared to sleep alone... I'd sleep easier knowing you were by my side..."

_And I'd feel more at ease with myself if you didn't put all these thoughts into my head._ He answered by nodding calmly. "That's fine."

--------

Night fell swiftly on this portion of the Outer Plate, and the world underwent an immediate change. Lights flickered in the last vestiges of sunlight and sporadically went out, diminishing the soft spots of illumination spread throughout the plains and hills. Rumbles, deep and primal, reverberated from the malevolent forest, whose blacks seemed to grow blacker with the absence of sunshine, and any romantic, beautiful, or poetic notions of a holy sanctum within its cover were swiftly put to test. Howls began to issue forth, inhuman, unnatural, and wholly disturbing, joined in its cacophony by a symphony of squeals, squirming and wriggling, and the sound like nails on a chalkboard.

Inside the walls of Asgard, people were in less of a hurry to return to their homes, and some shops still stood, selling the remains of the day's goods. Even here, though, under the protecting vigil of Son Jesus, a feeling of anxiety and fear hung in the air, as if the citizens half-expected the walls to crumble around them at any moment and leave them exposed to the terrors of the ghouls beyond their city walls. The three small, double-door gates that marked the northern, eastern, and southern faces of the perimeter had been closed and barricaded at the very last sign of sunlight above the Nibel mountains, and anybody unlucky enough to be outside its walls were now desperately seeking safe and disguised shelter.

Inside the town, everything was silent. But soon the same heavy rumblings reached their ears, and children began to weep, women were visited by nightmares, and the ghosts of the dead began to haunt their living relatives.

--------

The night was different from most others: by three o' clock, there hadn't been as much as a distant squealing of wheels on axles, much less an entrance by the ageless undead. Vincent fingered the large trio of stuffed pockets on his left side, his metallic claw somehow managing to itch. He was all the more wary now than ever – midnight was the prime time to attack any victim because the moon was fullest in the sky and the sun was furthest from the sky, and even as late as 2 AM was a good time to strike due to the absolute darkness that came at that time. But any time past that was flirting with the prospect of burning alive._Perhaps it will not attack tonight,_ he had tried to tell himself, but he knew better. No vampire would be so meek as to ignore the death of one of its victims.

_I sure as hell didn't._

He shifted slightly in his position in the shadows by the window and continued his vigil. The minutes ticked by, and he grew more and more anxious, more and more-

He froze, turning into an invisible statue, a black on black, a raindrop in a lake, and averted his gaze from the outside to Lucrecia's sleeping form. It had been sudden, almost soundless, but someone now stood outside the locked gate, silhouetted by the moon behind it, surveying the premises. The cows should have been restless and tense in their pastures, but there wasn't a single sound coming from them. Even they hadn't detected it.

"Lucrecia." The voice was surprisingly high-pitched and youthful, almost childlike. He half-expected the cattle to perk up at this whisper, but somehow they hadn't heard it. The vampire had directed it solely at its victim. "I'm coming in." Again, that aggravatingly... **cute** voice. His ears straining against the intense silence, Vincent removed his pistol as quietly as he could, the fingers deftly unclasping the holster with a low _snap!_. There was another inaudible _klak!_ on his left side, and one of the three compartments opened, revealing several small glass balls. As the last bit of moonlight struck them before he molded completely with the dark, it reflected off of a glistening amber powder.

The door was flung open with such incredible speed that there had to be a thunderous roar, but even the unoiled hinges made no sound at all, and the door stopped just short of slamming into the wall. It took a step...

...and continued into the house.

_How? How did you get past the barrier, vampire?_ All his instincts told him to bolt, to retreat from this awesome creature that could step into a blessed house beneath God's radar, but he held fast. He had to, or this entire night would have been wasted.

"Lucrecia," the youthful-sounding apparition whispered again, and at this distance he could finally make out the small, lithe frame of the attacker. Shielded as it was by the shadows of the hallway, he still couldn't make out its face. _Come, you devilish abomination. Come into God's revealing light and identify yourself before the Lord._

It did just as he commanded, strolling leisurely into the scope of the moonlight... and froze.

_A girl?_ She looked no older than fourteen, and she was dressed in the most unseemly of outfits; her top consisted of a simple black sleeveless shirt that cut off just below her breasts and a black lacquered vest which hung open, unzipped, and her bottom... to say that she revealed a fair bit of skin was an understatement. But what struck him the most was the overall... **shabbiness **of it. Perhaps not shabby, but it certainly didn't fit the image he'd built up of the aristocratic vampire. She seemed almost... amateurish, if that was possible. She looked like an amateur at being a vampire. _God must have a sense of humor_, he glumly noted in the back of his mind.

The girl-demon snarled, revealing her small, miniscule fangs. "Okay, where the FUCK are you!?" she exclaimed, catching him off-guard yet again. This wasn't right... the vampire he had expected was something powerful, an ancient lord that had somehow eluded his scrutinizing crusade. A vampire that ruled its domain as he had – with a warped dignity and perverted sense of class.

One that donned the most extravagant, the most luscious of fabrics, not some... some**commoner's** clothing.

One that spoke with refined, lyrical notes, not some callous dribble.

"I know you're here somewhere, you FUCKTARD, so just come out and I'll make it easy on you!" The young girl stamped heavily on the ground, baring her fangs as she swiveled her head every which way. He took a quick glance at Lucrecia; she hadn't woken up yet, which was a good thing.

"Gotcha."

He felt her cold, tingling breath brush against his neck as he leapt out from the shadows and whirled around, gun drawn. From the corner of the room, only a few inches away, he could hear her chuckling lightly, but there didn't seem to be anything in that impenetrable darkness.

"Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk... I gotta admit, you had me wondering for a sec. I almost couldn't tell where you were," she said lightly. "So what are you? Some sort of bodyguard? ...Wait a minute..."

He kept his gun beaded on the inky blackness and focused his gaze. "Don't think you can hide from me, vampire."

"Hide? Wha- hey, hold on a sec! What the hell's up with YOU!?" she stammered, and he could suddenly make her out that much easier. Her youthful, unblemished and pale form stepped out into the moonlight... and quite angrily, at that. "Look, there's no need to be so hostile, okay? We're all friends here, right?"

"Your kind is meant for extinction."

"'My'... hey..." The girl became flustered, suddenly taking real notice of the firearm aimed at her heart. "H-hey... w-what's wrong with you...? O-okay, just... just put that down... alright?"

He stepped closer, frenzy – _Friends, are we?_ – filling him like blood, and he felt his finger tightening on the – _I am no vampire!_ – trigger, squeezing, squeezing – _No more!_ – and he was going to do it again, kill another of his own-

"...Vincent...?"

Savagely, the demon in front of him swept at the gun, and there was a loud _bang!_, and he found himself tossed into the living room wall, then someone screamed, who was it, who was it, it had to be Lucrecia, and glass shattered, that was her, that was the girl, _Shit!_

Falling onto the couch, he grasped one of the small orbs from its stash and crushed it in his metallic grip. With a quick snap, he flung the encased dust into the air, tingeing the air a sparkling red color. The vampire girl stood in the yard, looking confusedly and angrily at him, and he aimed and fired into the misty substance, _bang bang bang!_

Three behemoth jets of flame shot forward, streaking out into the open and slamming into the earth with massive force. "Stay here!" he ordered Lucrecia as he bolted from the couch and out the window. Scanning his surroundings, he saw the little vampire girl dashing down the road toward Asgard. He aimed quickly, fired, and saw her shoulder lurch violently forward, heard her let out a surprised yelp, and then he was dashing after her.

--------

She stopped directly underneath the heavy, looming walls of the city gates, gazing up at the holy cross emblazoned there. By the time he made his way to her, the girl had turned around and regarded him with her shimmering gray eyes.

"There's nowhere left to go," he remarked, his gun again trained on her small, nimble frame. Her right shoulder oozed black humor, but she did nothing to staunch its flow; to the contrary, she drove her fingers into the torn mass of tissue and muscles and bone and whipped something at him, something hard and sharp. He knocked the piece of bone out of the way and trained his gun on her again.

"Shut up!" she yelled defiantly, turning to face the monolithic gates. "Don't think one stupid wall can stop me!" Saying that, she bolted toward the gate and leapt up, up, up. She was jumping right onto the blessed walls. _Is this girl an idiot?_ he wondered briefly, until her small feet touched the surface.

Holy fire burst forth immediately, but she was already up again, up above the radiant yellow flames. In three hauntingly beautiful strides, the vampire girl was up and over the wall, leaving a trail of dying will-o'-the-wisps in her wake.

Gazing up so far that his neck began to strain, Vincent couldn't help but be enthralled by the show of dexterity. No vampires before had ever tried to scale the walls of a blessed gate, and none had certainly even attempted to resort to such... mundane measure to scale ANYTHING. _This girl's just full of surprises._ Rather than infuriate him, it only served to slightly irritate the beleaguered hunter.

Straining the muscles in his legs, the hunter followed her lead, though he made contact with the wall well short of her mark. Stabbing his claw into the hallowed stones, Vincent slowly made his way to its crest.

As he descended, he scanned the lightening forms of the buildings and streets for her lithe form.

Nothing.

She was gone.

But suddenly, as if to award him for his effort, the walls were flooded with light from the rising sun, its streams of light breaking through the shadows of the walls and touching on the western face of the town. In the distance, he heard a high scream, and he sprinted in its direction.

**Chapter 3: The First Night (Prelude) END**

A/N: I have a habit of cutting things short. I've gotta work on that. But I suppose this time it's not such a bad thing. The original outline called for this chapter to extend to the morning hours, when another person would be found bitten. But I figured that it'd be hard for the girl... yes, it's Yuffie... to bite another person with only a few hours of night time left, with a gunslinger hunting her, stuck inside the walls of something that rivals Jerusalem in its religious mumbo-jumbo. It also turns out that the cutting would help out the story a bit more, too. I hope you'll see what I mean as the story progresses.

If there's anything I missed, I apologize. Oh, there's a small update to Chapter 9 of TFJ, but it's nothing big – all I did was switch "Kami no Henshin" to "Henshin no Kami."

Hopefully, I'll be a bit more prudent about writing and finish the next chapter(s) sooner, and again, thank you for reading.

**Notes:**

"St. Michael the Archangel ... Amen." – An altered take on the Prayer to St. Michael (originally written by Pope Leo XIII).

"The power of Christ ... compels you." – Any horror fan worth his or her salt should know where this line comes from.

"_It IS said that God has a sense of humor."_ – If you've seen Dogma, you'll understand this piece of dry, humorless comedy.

Yuffie's attire – Yuffie's attire is basically an embellishment on her Advent Children outfit. Her shirt's flat black, cut off just under her breasts to reveal more of her stomach. Her vest remains more or less the same, only shortened a bit and darkened. Her shorts are mostly the same – again, just darkened – and her leggings are reduced to ankle-length socks and sneakers. It reminds me a lot of Tifa's outfit, actually.


	4. Chapter 4: Mysteries of the Vampire

Redeeming Cain  
By Kaj-Nrig

Notes/Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII is the sole property of Square Enix Co., Ltd. I claim none of its characters, scenarios, or affiliations as my own.

Chapter WARNING – Pedophilia (or at least statutory rape)

**Chapter 4: Mysteries of the Vampire**

If the vampire had been burned by the sunlight, there would've been something like an ashy corpse lying in the middle of the street. As he followed the trail of blood and crisped coal-skin, he saw no such corpse, which meant that the girl, against all odds, had somehow found shelter. He stopped by the fountain of the courtyard where he'd met Lucrecia earlier, contemplating where the blood trail led.

He was tired, though, much more so than he cared to admit; especially now, as he felt the morning rays on his skin, Vincent felt weariness tugging at the brim of his eyelids. Old habits died hard, after all.

"What's going on!?" came from one of the dust-ridden shops that circled the town square. Within minutes, the square was filled with frightened and panicked citizens, all converging on Vincent like wolves on an injured deer.

"I saw him! I saw him chasing something!"

"It's the Hunter!"

"He came to rob us!"

"He let the vampire in!"

Vincent hated crowds. Some of that hatred undoubtedly stemmed from prior experience with them, but in truth, it was that tendency of all crowds to overreact to one idiotic outburst that irritated him most of all. Belligerent fools, most of them scarcely out of bed, proceeded to accuse him of fictitious crimes, all of them dimwitted and preposterous. As he turned to acknowledge the increasingly hostile crowd, Vincent immediately heeded the town's sheriff rushing through the crowd.

"Move, people, move!" the constable ordered as he hustled to confront Vincent. Still dressed in a thin pair of trousers and nothing else, the heavily-muscled Sheriff Weston shivered in the chill of the morning despite the sunlight streaming in from the eastern horizon. After the two of them were alone in front of the crowd, he presented his large shotgun, pumping it once with his left hand. "What's going on, Sir hunter?" he asked in a casual tone, though the underlying threat of imminent danger was painfully obvious.

Vincent contemplated his response for a moment. _Oh, they'll love this._ "The vampire managed to get inside the walls. I chased-"

"He's lying! I saw it! I saw him open the gates!" a distressed man, just a bit smaller than the sheriff, yelled out from the midst of the crowd. Others immediately joined in – scattered demands of "Lynch him!" and "Find the vampire!" rose up like bubbles through a bog – and he resisted the urge to shoot some of them.

"Quiet! QUIET!" Sheriff Weston demanded. The incensed crowd crept forward but stayed their tongues, though there was the unmistakable grate of a knife being unsheathed. "You're barely out of bed, Jefferson! You don't know what you're talking about!"

"What!? I saw it with my own eyes! Are you saying you know what I saw better than I do!?" the man named Jefferson countered.

"Shut up, George!" a young woman next to Jefferson chided. "I'm sorry, John. My husband had a itty bitty lil' nightmare, that's all."

The tense mood was lightened slightly by the woman's statement; a collective smile ran through the crowd, and a few chuckles even sounded. John the Sheriff nodded in her direction. "Thanks, Becca. Al-"

"Anything for a looker like you, hunter."

John's smile widened at that and continued, "Alright, hunter. Continue."

Vincent's eyes swept across the crowd, and with his back to the sun, he knew they all noticed the glow of his eyes, but that fact only made them fall silent even more quickly. Pointing in the direction he had come from, he explained, "I chased the vampire from Lucrecia's house. She made her way into town-"

"The vampires a GIRL!?" someone shouted from the crowd, and Vincent nodded, continuing before another question could interrupt him.

"I chased her, but I lost her track here." He pointed out the trail of burnt skin and blood, the latter of which had dried into a red stain in the morning sun.

"You let the thing into town!?" George Jefferson again yelled, leveling a large butcher knife at him and causing those around him to jump back in shock. "Get him! He's in league with the vampire!"

"Shut UP, George!" Sheriff Weston yelled, bringing his own weapon up and causing the crowd to spread even more. He didn't point it at the Jefferson man, but George ground his teeth and eventually put the machete back into its sheath, bringing his hands up as a sign of peace. "Nobody's in league with the vampire, okay?" This he directed to everyone. "Look, it's daylight now, so wherever that vampire is, she's got to be-"

"What is all this racket?" cried a blubbery form as it stepped out of the front door of the most lavish house in the town. Apparently, the mayor had been able to sleep through the prior ruckus. As he approached the crowd, though, the hastily-dressed mayor's flushed face showed no signs of weariness. "Sheriff, what happened!? It's barely five o' clock!"

After the sheriff explained the situation, Mayor Foulke nodded. "Fine, fine, fine. Well, what time is it? Five? Six? It's daylight, that's all that matters. Sheriff, I'm sure you can handle this."

"Ah-" John the Sheriff stuttered slightly as the Mayor began making his way back to his house. "W-wait, Mayor! What are you doing?"

Mayor Foulke pointed back towards his front porch, where a scantily-clad girl stood. Vincent smelled the stench of the mayor's sweat and much more on her. _And VAMPIRES are the evil ones,_ he thought. Heading back, the mayor answered, "I need to relieve some stress, John. I trust you can handle-"

"Wait."

Everyone seemed to pale at Vincent's command, and even the lusty flush of Mayor Foulke's face seemed to die down for a moment.

"What?" the mayor snapped. "I'm a busy man, hunter, so if you'll excuse me-"

"I need information about your vampire."

The mayor spat in his direction. "Fuck you, hunter. Don't try to associate me with this vampire."

"I'm not. I just need to know when the last attack was."

Incensed, the mayor returned. "Come with me, hunter," he hissed, and started walking again. Vincent followed. "You test my authority like that again and I swear to God, I'll-" he snapped, but the rest of his statement went (wisely) unspoken as it was interrupted by a beastly snarl.

"Alright, then!" Sheriff Weston shouted as Vincent made his way to the mayor's residence. "A vampire was stupid enough to come into our village during broad daylight, folks! Let's show it our Asgard hospitality!"

----____----

"What is it?" the mayor asked offhandedly before grasping the young girl's chin and tilting it up to receive his tongue.

The living room of the mayor's house was naturally very large, nearly four stories tall and with a glass ceiling to allow sunshine to stream down. Furnishing it was a rather simple combination of sofas and loveseats surrounding a coffee table, where the mayor was currently fondling the young child. From where he rested on a corner leading to the entrance, Vincent saw, to his left and right, a hallway that stretched to other parts of the house. Along the opposite wall of the living room sat a well-decorated fireplace, unused, as well as two sliding doors that led to an equally lavish backyard, where the mayor's wife and daughter were currently resting in a peaceful hammock. The other two walls contained stairs that led upstairs, where there were undoubtedly more rooms and sleeping quarters.

Vincent kept quiet in the shadowed hallway a bit longer, observing his surroundings. "When was the last attack?" he finally asked.

Mayor Foulke broke the lip lock, his chin dripping with saliva, and replied, "That's a hell of a question, hunter. I thought you were smart."

"Before Melantha."

Unhooking the small bra on his young lover, Mayor Foulke answered, "Why do you care? That happened almost sixty years ago. It's not the same vampire, if that's what you're asking." Tossing the underwear aside, his thick, engorged tongue went to work, sliding across her skin like a slug, even leaving a trail of clear, thick slime in its wake.

"How do you know?" he asked. Outside, the mayor's wife peered in and, noticing that her husband was conducting a meeting, returned to cuddling her young child to sleep.

Mayor Foulke waved off the question, continuing his administrations until he was finished suckling on the girl's small breast. "When I was a boy, hunter, I had the privilege of seeing that bitch of a vampire staked to death.

"I was about seven at the time, and I remember it had bitten some girl. Short blonde hair, and in her twenties or so. Elena, I think her name was. Anyway, we found it, staked it, and that was that. Nobody's been bitten since then... Well, except for Melantha." The story over, Mayor Foulke returned to his business, dropping to his knees in front of her and gently removing her panties, and Vincent wrinkled his nose at the stench of arousal coming from the naked man.

"Tell me how Melantha was turned."

"You ask a lot of questions, hunter. Don't you see I'm busy?"

"Very well. I'll leave the vampire and her minions to you." Pushing off the wall, Vincent's boots clacked loudly as he made his way to the door.

The words broke through the mayor's desire and arousal, causing the old man to bolt to his feet... or to his knees, at the very least. "Wait, hunter, wait!" he cried lackadaisically, spitting love juices on the carpet floor in the process. "I apologize, I apologize," he lied. "What else do you want to know?"

"Tell me how Melantha was turned," he repeated, ignoring the yell of surprise from the young girl as Mayor Foulke threw her onto all fours on the coffee table and positioned his nude body behind hers.

After a quick thrust forward, the fat old man grunted with pleasure and answered, "It started... ah, yes... a few weeks ago. Melantha and Lucrecia, those two are beautiful, hunter. I'm sure you've noticed. It's no surprise that the vampire went for Melantha. I wouldn't mind having a quick taste of her myself... not that Mimi here isn't wonderful, of course." To emphasize his devotion to his young lover, Mayor Foulke thrust violently forward, eliciting a sharp moan from his partner.

"Talk about Melantha."

"Yes, right, right, hunter. Always so... oooh... so blunt. Melantha was courting a young man, and invited him over to dinner one night. Hoji, I think his name was. Or was it Hoja...? Hoju...? Ho-"

Vincent rapped on the wall as gently as he could. As it was, a sizeable indentation was formed. "Continue, please."

"Mm, that's more like it, hunter. Your respect is appreciated. Uhhh... Lucrecia was at a neighbor's house that night, which is why she wasn't attacked. Once the darkness came, that vampire girl of yours came a-calling. Speaking of coming..." His old skin flapping noisily, the mayor huffed and puffed as he quickened his pace, looking like he would have a heart attack at any moment. Vincent turned away as two voices, one an old, spent moan, the other a high-pitched grunt, mixed together in some disgusting and base mockery of an aria.

After the impromptu concert was over, Vincent once again regarded Mayor Foulke, who was panting vigorously. As he pulled away from the equally spent girl, he smiled lasciviously at Vincent, gesturing toward the girl's gently quaking rear. "Want a taste? She's still got one clean hole." After Vincent was silent, the mayor continued, flopping onto a couch to rest. "Your vampire killed the man and bit Melantha. After that... well, you were there. Father Hebner took Melantha's dead body back to the church, thinking God could both keep her safe and help him kill the vampire." Taking in an exhausted breath, Mayor Foulke's eyes wandered back to the young Mimi, who was splayed on the table, expended into a half-sleep. "Mm... see that beautiful tiny rear? It's still there if you want it, hunter."

Without a response, Vincent turned and left the premises.

"Damn shame..." lamented Mayor Foulke. "Oh well." Having caught his breath, the obese mayor returned to grasp his young mistress's hips and pulled her to him, growing bolder and more flushed with each groan and hiss that escaped her lips.

----____----

By the time he made it back outside, the courtyard had filled with every citizen from the town and immediate area, all surrounding the fountain of the stoically-countenanced Son Jesus. The crowd of over a hundred listened intently to the orders of the Sheriff, who was flanked on both sides by his squad of twenty deputy sheriffs.

"-slumbering in the city!" A loud clamor followed the confirmation the entire crowd had already known for the past hour, but John the Sheriff immediately raised his hands to shush the crowd. "People, people! Let's stay calm about this! As I'm sure you've all noticed, it's shining nice and bright out! Now, we don't know how it got in, but we DO know that it didn't get out, which means one thing!"

"LET'S STAKE THE BITCH!" shouted someone from the crowd, an overzealous butcher.

"That's right, Grove!" John shouted. "But first we have to find it! So here's what we're going to do! You all know which deputy sheriff is in charge of your part of town, right!?" A few mutters of "Uh..." and "No" were drowned out by an overwhelmingly enthusiastic and frenzied "Yeah!". Sheriff Weston laughed lightly before turning back to serious matters. "Well, you better find out quick, because they're gonna be leading each and every one of you on this vampire hunt!"

"What if the vampire gets up!?" shouted another citizen. "We shouldn't risk so many people unnecessarily!"

"It's daylight, you idiot!" another voice challenged. "No vampire can move during the day! If it wakes up, just open the damn windows! Gyah Hah Hah!"

"Alright, alright! Here's what we're going to do, folks! Men, meet with your section's sheriffs and they'll lead you through a sweep of your section! Cover EVERY square inch of it! I want that damn thing found, and I want it staked! Women, take your children and head out to the hills! Make sure you're in an open, sunlit area! And as always, stay away from the forest or the Gongaga Valley. Don't worry! It won't take more than a couple hours! Alright!? Great, let's go!"

The rowdy crowd dispersed upon the command, scattering like a swarm of bees from the nest. Many snickered as they passed by Vincent. He and the Sheriff locked eyes and met each other by the same fountain where the Sheriff had addressed the crowd.

"Sorry, hunter," John said, justifiably smug, "but it looks like we won't be needing your help after all. What a stupid one, eh? Trapping itself in a packed city during the daytime... Man, we couldn't have gotten any luckier." Vincent nodded slowly as if trying to agree, but there was something intangibly... wrong with the scenario. No vampire EVER retreated to a human town, even if it was in mortal danger. And no vampire was absent-minded enough to visit its victim so close to dawn.

But no vampire had ever woken a wraith in the middle of the day, either, much less kept it from decomposing. This was certainly an unusual one he was facing.

Vincent scanned the local buildings, trying to get a sense of where the vampire girl could have gone. She would have looked for someplace with as little light as possible. All the buildings here, though, were pinpricked with windows that caught every last bit of sunlight. Where could-

"I'll aid your search," he said to the sheriff before turning to the church. "Who's in charge of the church?"

John looked at him, visible baffled. "The church? You're kidding me, right? Why would it hide inside the church?" When he saw the deadpan serious look in Vincent's eyes, the confused sheriff answered, "Uh... well, nobody's in charge of it. I mean... come on, Sir hunter. A vampire would never go into the house of the Lord."

"Better safe than sorry."

"Hm... I suppose you've got a point, Sir hunter. Alright, fine. I'll come-"

The sheriff was abruptly cut off by Vincent's silencing finger. "No need," Vincent replied. "It's probably as you say. I'll be fine."

----____----

It was clear upon entering the dark church that the vampire had indeed fled here to escape the sun. Ashy footprints indicated a pained gait as she had stumbled through the hallowed chamber. Vincent followed the footprints carefully, keeping his senses open to any sign of danger. As he passed one of the back pews, he noticed a hand-shaped stain on its back, burnt flesh still clinging stubbornly to it. _Idiot girl,_ he muttered to no one in particular and followed the footprints through the pitch blackness of the church, which ended abruptly at a set of stairs leading downstairs.

The darkness of the place threatened to thwart his advance, though. Vincent felt his eyes become heavy, and his footing slowly turned slightly sluggish. He was VERY tired now, and he definitely needed some sort of rest. The mere presence of the sun outside made it that much worse, and he struggled to keep from dropping next to a cool wall and closing his eyes.

He shakily unholstered his firearm and held it at the ready, rummaging through another sphere-filled pocket while stealthily heading down into the basement, which was somehow darker than even the lightless church above. His acute eyes could barely pierce through the blackness, drooping as they were, but what he could see reminded him of some sort of mausoleum – dark, damp, cold, smelling of earth, and wholly suited to safeguarding hellspawn.

Unlike a mausoleum, though, its stone and cement walls only seemed to be meant for storage. A modest wine rack rested against one wall, and next to it were several barrels. Strewn about were various instruments of worship, but Vincent could see that they hadn't been used in a long time; most likely Father Hebner did not particularly enjoy being down in this... tomb-like realm.

There was a single opening in the wall across from him, opening into another room. This one could hardly be called a room at all – it had been left unfinished long ago, and the exposed dirt had since taken back some of its territory, spilling through the eroding stones along the back "wall" and to his feet. There, lying huddled in the far "corner" of the room, was the vampire girl.

Instantly, he trained his gun on her unmoving form and slowly stepped forward. As he did, her silvery gray eyes, glowing faintly as all vampire eyes did in the darkness, blinked in his direction.

"...you..." Her voice was weak, but it still contained an almost petulant anger and haughtiness. Vincent closed the distance between the two of them and knelt, pulling an orb from his pocket. Crushing the glass in his metallic claw, he sprinkled the encased dust widely on the earth beside them and scraped his claws together, igniting a flame that instantly lit up the room and caused the vampire to snap her eyes away in surprise.

"What's your name?" Vincent asked. When the young girl didn't answer, he jabbed his thumb into the partially healed wound on her shoulder. Her pain would not stop him from receiving his answers.

"Aaah!" She hissed sharply in agony as he pulled his hand away and wiped the black ichor on the dirt.

"What's your name?" he repeated.

"Fuck you," she answered. "If you're gonna kill me, then hurry up and do it." She turned her eyes upward, looking at the stone ceiling above her. "Damn sun..." she muttered. "...can hardly talk, much less move."

"What's your name?" he asked a third time. Her stormy gray eyes met his, and he saw the flicker of a question in her gaze upon again seeing his crimson radiance, but she wisely chose not to voice it.

"...Yuffie," she admitted after a prolonged silence. Vincent stepped back, but a sudden wave of weariness caused him to stumble in his step, his knees buckling slightly and his aim falling wildly. _momma_ Shaking his head to keep his senses, he fought to keep himself awake. "...you don't look too good yourself."

The comment surprised Vincent, successfully snapping him to full awareness. He hadn't been expecting any sort of comment _come back_ from her, and he certainly hadn't expected her to show empathy... of any kind. Keeping a suspicious eye on her now, he continued toward the first room, his gun still trained on her. Finally, as he neared the central wall, he replied, "Like you said, it's the sun."

Yuffie snickered as well as she could, but the action still seemed to take a lot of effort in the midst of daytime. "Look, I'd rather not be staked through the heart by some town hero, buddy. At least make it quick with that gun of yours."

He shook his head _momma_ as he reached the stairs. "No. I have questions for you."

"What makes you think I'll answer 'em?"

Vincent didn't have an answer to that, but he didn't truly care _come back_ to give one. Leaving her question hanging in the dank crypt, he made his way back to the surface.

_come_

----____----

"So?" Sheriff Weston looked expectantly at him as he made his way back to the fountain. A young deputy sheriff – one of the men who'd helped carry Father Hebner to the clinic the previous day – came and gave a status report to John, and he gave a curt nod of understanding before turning his attention back to Vincent. "Did you- Actually, I've been meaning to ask you: How did that vampire get in here, anyhow?"

Vincent didn't respond immediately, instead trying to keep the burning sun from closing his eyelids. "She ran over the wall," he answered after the brief pause.

John whistled in grudging admiration. "Really now? That must be some vampire. She didn't get burnt?"

Vincent shook his head. "She is 'some vampire.' The holy fire never touched her."

"Really... wow. Running into a city, jumping over a fortified wall, and evading an entire city's search efforts. It's no wonder we haven't found her yet. We've already scoured through half the city, and there's still no sign of her. She must be a ninja or something." Then, as if suddenly remembering where Vincent had been, he asked, "You didn't get her, did you?"

Again, Vincent shook his head. "No."

A small wind suddenly drifted by and lifted his burgundy cloak ever so slightly, and he saw the sheriff's eyes widen the tiniest fraction of an inch at the sight of his unclasped gun. _Damn it,_ he muttered to himself as he quickly pulled the garment down and clicked the holster shut. Another wind lifted his cloak up again, but Sheriff Weston blinked confusedly as he observed the firearm firmly secured When they met eyes, Vincent made sure to keep the truth locked away behind his eyes.

Even still, the lawman's instinct was strong in the sheriff; his eyes became suspicious and questioning, and Vincent noticed his right hand rising casually to his hips, right above his revolver. _Smart man._

"...didn't see anything, huh?"

"Nothing."

John's mood lightened infinitely at Vincent's curt response, and he smiled, reaching out to slap the gunslinger on the back. "Good, then!" he exclaimed with an obviously false cheer. "I told you it wouldn't be stupid enough to hide in a church! Hahahah!"

He accepted the attempted deception, then turned back to look at the church. "Something worries me about that church, though," he stated calmly. Indifferently.

"Oh yeah? What's that?" The light mood was still there, but he could also hear the thinly-disguised distrust coating every syllable. Vincent was very impressed with the constable. He trusted his intuition, and he was wise enough to trust yet question a stranger at the same time.

Taking a glance toward the local cemetery, which was located directly next to the western wall of the church, he explained, "Melantha was turned into a wraith by the vampire and brought back to life in the middle of the day. Only an extremely powerful vampire would be capable of doing such a thing. Moreover, when I shot her, she should have immediately turned to dust, but she didn't. I need to check that church and make sure it doesn't have any surprises in store." After the unusually lengthy soliloquy, Vincent then headed back into the church, ignoring the wary and untrusting eyes of Sheriff Weston.

----____----

Vincent could tell that Yuffie hadn't expected him to return. Or, at the very least, not by himself. She had most likely expected a group of angry citizens and a wooden stake. The look of immense relief on her face almost made him feel sorry for her.

As he entered the earthen chamber, though, the weariness of the daytime suddenly came over him again, and this time his knees gave out on him, slamming his back against the wall and shoving him down into an impromptu sitting position. "Ugh..." he grunted evenly, trying as much as he could to still appear in control of his own body.

Not surprisingly, Yuffie looked somewhat self-assuredly amused at his weakness. "Oh, poor baby..." she crooned weakly. "Didn't get enough sleep last night?" The sound of his gun being cocked shut her up immediately, but he saw the mocking laugh in her eyes as they stared long at each other.

"...who are you?" Vincent asked at last. His arm wavered in the dimly-lit air, but he squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head, and opened them again, his conscience at least temporarily alert again.

"I'm a dirty, evil, spooky lil' vampire, of course. C'mon, I'm sure you knew that."

"You're unlike any other vampire I've met."

"Mm, I like where this is going..." she almost purred. "If you want, I can show you what my mouth can do besides suck your blood." Then, slowly, she brought a pale, slender finger to her mouth and sucked on it, even managing a flirtatious smile in the process.

Vincent hmph-ed and reached to a back pocket, pulling out a vial of colorless liquid. "I command you in the name of the Lord, vampire."

Yuffie stared at the bottle of water and ceased her self-ministrations, though she seemed more tired from physical exertion than frightened of the holy water. If anything, she looked... _She looks... curious._ Like she didn't understand the significance of the object in his hand.

She was dressed in unabashedly revealing clothing, she visited her victims near dawn, she sought refuge in a human town, and she didn't recognize holy water.

Vincent searched her iridescent gray eyes for a sign, any sign, anything that would give him some answers. _She can't be the one that attacked Melantha._ Again, there was that alarming suggestion, that impossibility that was only gaining more strength as he continued to scrutinize her.

"How long ago were you turned?" he asked, uncorking the bottle.

"How long ago were YOU?" He was taken aback by the response, again caught off-guard by the decidedly un-aristocratic action. Vampires were supposed to be the highest class of society, not impersonating some commoner.

Shaking his head clear of the thoughts, Vincent quickly flicked a few droplets in her direction. And to his surprise, the resultant cry and sound of sizzling flesh came as naturally as it did every other vampire. At least THAT part of her was normal vampire behavior.

"Answer my question," he commanded above her whining dins.

"Hell no- AAAH-" Her voice was cut off as her muscles seized up under the pain of another barrage of holy water. "O-O... Okay..." she finally whimpered, curled into a ball and shuddering as the burns cooked parts of her bare legs.

"How were you turned? Tell me everything."

"O-okay... but f-f-first- NO!" she screamed as he tilted the bottle back again, one hand flailing in a stopping gesture in his direction. "No! Please! Oh, please, don't!" The sudden burst of emotion made him stay his hand, once again shocked at the unusual behavior she was exhibiting. There was definitely something decidedly YOUNG about this vampire. If only he could pinpoint the reason...

"What?" he demanded rudely.

Yuffie sniffed and whimpered miserably, her back turned from the still-burning flames next to her so as to shield her face from his gaze. "L-look... I-I know... I know you're out to kill me... I can understand that... but... but... if you're gonna question me first, then... the least I deserve i-is... s-s-s-some answers of my own... right?" He didn't respond, once again shocked at her unusual demeanor. It was so unlike any normal vampire action that he found his hand once again wavering, this time not so much from weariness as from doubt. _No, not doubt. Doubt is how I got into this mess._ "P-please. I'm hardly one to ask, but please..."

There was nothing to doubt. He knew she was doing this just to get her way with him. He'd done it himself so many times before... but there was... something. As much as he tried not to, he found himself being swayed by her plea.

"...what is your question?"

"Y... your name... that's all." Enraged, he rose to his feet, his body now devoid of exhaustion, and he pulled the bottle back, ready to fling it. _Play with my mind, will she?_ He knew what she would do once she obtained his name. She would try to coerce him, try to get him to drop his guard, and then she would make him sin again, and he would be right back where he started, and then- "NO! NO PLEASE I SWEAR! PLEASE I'M NOT TRYING ANYTHING PLEASE!"

The vampire girl shrunk back even further, curling even more into her fetal position as she shied away from the bottle in his hand, shivering, terrified of him.

"...

"...

"...Vincent," he answered as he once again took a seat on the cold floor. Across from him, Yuffie continued to cringe. "Vincent," he repeated, louder this time, and Yuffie's frightened shudders finally began to cease. Vincent eyed her warily, but he couldn't help but feel a sense of relief at the sight of her terrified eyes slowly opening.

"W-w-what?" Her limbs began to stretch out again, returning to a more comfortable position, and he raised his gun, this time propping his arm on his raised knee.

"My name is Vincent." Without waiting for her to offer a reaction, he ordered, "Now talk. Why are you here?"

Yuffie didn't answer for a long time, and he waited patiently against his better judgement for her to collect herself. "I..." she began, clearly still deathly afraid of him. The burns on her legs soon began to disappear; the hole in her shoulder, which she had reopened during her writing, also began to close, leaving only a black stain of blood. She stared at her bare legs, looking very disturbingly vulnerable and meek. "I found... this deserted castle a few months ago, and... well, I was hungry, so... y'know. Vampires gotta feed."

Her words were obvious lies, and his left hand once again reached for the holy water, but he saw her cringe away ever so slightly. _Afraid... Genuinely afraid. But not of God... of me._ Trying to stare into her eyes to see any hint of deception, he cautiously put the vial back into his pocket.

"How long ago were you turned?"

"...I don't remember."

"Guess."

"I-I dunno... a few decades?"

He kept quiet, unsure of how to read her answer. Above him, the sun passed its zenith, and he felt the drowsiness envelope him, his eyelids fluttering in the cold darkness of the storage room. Something clattered to the floor in front of him, and when he shook himself awake, he saw his gun lying on its side.

"...you okay?" Again, that irritatingly genuine and unhidden quality to her voice... Her entire demeanor belied her years of vampirism. "Heh. Lis'sen to me... Askin' the guy... who's gonna kill me... if he's 'kay..." Pushing up the wall, Vincent forced himself to his feet and trod around the small room, rubbing his right hand against his eyes. Then, as if realizing his mistake, he quickly bent over and picked up his firearm.

"Who turned you? And why?"

"Hm?" Her half-lidded eyes did incredible things to her face, and as Vincent bent down above her, he took in her unearthly beauty with heavily-restrained temptation. He knew what that beauty was for, and he knew how easily it could work if he didn't keep his guard up. "Wh...d yuh... say?" He repeated his question after slapping her awake, though he did his best to keep his blows from hurting her too much. In the back of his mind, as he questioned the unconscious restraint he'd shown, he wondered briefly if she'd already ensnared him.

...but he immediately banished that thought. Whoever the girl was, he knew that she was incapable of doing such a thing. All that he'd seen thus far spoke volumes about the sheer immaturity of this childish vampire... but there was always the chance that she was simply playing with him. When he looked into her groggy eyes, though, he could see no such deeply-engraved deception.

"Ow... some... some woman... a long time ago."

"Why?" He shook Yuffie awake again, and she tried to swipe at her eyes, but only managed to raise her arms partway before groaning with the effort.

"L-look... I don't wanna talk about it, okay?" she asked, taking in a deep breath and settling herself into an elevated position. "Why does it matter, anyway?"

"Just answer the question."

"Ugh... okay. I ran away from home, ran into the forest to find a vampire, and it bit me. Happy?"

"Why were you looking for a vampire?"

Yuffie shook her head, exasperated and exhausted. "Geez, you ask a lot of questions. Power, immortality, and eternal youth. All the stuff you dream about. Can I sleep now?"

"No one lives forever."

"Yeah? Your point?"

"We are all transient guests. The time of the vampires has come to an end."

"...whatever, Mr. Hunter. You ever stop to think that maybe some of us have reasons for becoming vampires?"

"You allowed yourself to be tempted. That's it. There is no justification for that."

"Heh. Typical. Y'know what? Think whatever you want. I'm not gonna justify myself to you."

"You lost faith in the Lord."

Yuffie suddenly snarled and bared her fangs at Vincent, and again, he saw the raw, undisguised fury in her eyes.

"HE lost faith in ME!" she hissed before a blast of sleepiness rippled through her and her eyelids fluttered shut.

"What makes you say that?" he asked.

Before the question reached her ears, Yuffie was already beginning to doze off, but before she did, he saw some flicker of emotion dim her glowing eyes. "Why did He abandon you?" he repeated, pressing the gun barrel directly between her breasts.

"...y'know," she mumbled sleepily, "I used to know a Vincent...

"He was always really mean to me. Him and all his friends...

"They always hurt me..."

He went to wake her again, but paused when he glanced at the wound to her shoulder. Her words continued to echo in his ears, and tried as he might, he couldn't keep them from swirling around his mind.

"...hey..." He looked back down as Yuffie whispered to him, nearly asleep. "...at least make it quick... 'kay?"

Common sense as well as divine justice told him to oblige her – she would only cause more terror if she was let loose – yet debate as he did, the sight of her, sleeping peacefully like some normal girl... Vincent took a deep breath.

_There is something about her... She is not... She is not like any other vampire._ "What do I do?" he muttered to himself.

A chilly breeze suddenly drifted by, a breeze that was impossible down here, pulling up his cloak and revealing his holster. Vincent stood in the room for a while longer, contemplating his options.

Then he holstered his gun and made his way back to the church proper.

----____----

By the time he exited the church, the sun was on its way to the horizon. He feigned ignorance when Sheriff Weston reported that the vampire hadn't been found anywhere in the town. Asked for his advice, he told the sheriff that the entire town should seal their doors two hours before sunset and place crosses on their front doors. Additionally, he explained, the residents should sleep with an additional crucifix at the foot of their bed.

All of which was sound advice, but Vincent nevertheless tried to avoid any questions from the sheriff.

After everything in town had been taken care of, he returned to the doctor's clinic to check on the Father.

Father Hebner was lying in a lonesome paper-white bed, and the entire room had a feeling of unnatural sterility to it. As Vincent entered, the Father looked up from his Bible with vacant, almost forlorn eyes. "Ah, so it's you," he remarked, his voice completely devoid of enthusiasm and filled with only a self-loathing. The feeling was one he could understand well; undoubtedly, the man of faith was still uncertain about his own faith in his Father.

"How are you, Father?" he asked, hoping to elicit some response.

"...Mr. Vincent." The bandaged patient was wracked with a seizing cough, hacking in a guttural, phlegm-filled sound. "...Do you know you are the first to visit me this day?" With a self-deprecating laugh, he continued, "Frailty, thy name is Religion."

Pulling a chair up to the bed, Vincent sat down and quickly grabbed the Father's left hand to examine it. The stigma of the crucifix was still scarred into his palm, but the tips of the Father's fingers were also powder-white and dry. He looked at the Father sharply.

"Hm," responded Father Hebner to Vincent's unasked question. "It seems that reading the Good Book is a bit more difficult today."

Letting go of the priest's hand, Vincent sat down and waited a moment until he closed his book. A small, scarcely audible singeing sound issued from inside the book and the smell of seared flesh clogged his nose.

"Would you like to recite the Scripture with me, Mr. Vincent?" Father Hebner asked. Vincent nodded absent-mindedly, and the Father started the prayer.

"The Lord is my shepherd;  
I shall not want.  
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures;  
He leadeth me beside the still waters.  
He restoreth my soul;  
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness  
For His name's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,  
I shall fear no evil;  
For Thou art with me;  
Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of my enemies;  
Thou anointest my head with oil;  
My cup runs over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me  
All the day of my life.  
For I will dwell in the house of the Lord  
Forever."

Once they finished, the Father asked him, "So? What happened, Mr. Vincent?" His face was still horribly discolored, but it was clear that the old man was suffering from wounds more internal than external. The bandages were all but nonexistent now, revealing a ripple of thin, hairless purple skin, but the strip of cotton was still wrapped neatly around his neck.

"The vampire attacked and was chased into the city, and it... hasn't yet been found." He tried to hide his stumble, but, as he should've known, Father Hebner immediately caught the brief pause of indecision.

Rising with pained effort to a more conversational position, Father Hebner coughed again and asked, "What do you wish to tell me, son?"

He met the priest's eyes with careful indifference, but, seeing only openness and understanding there, he forewarned, "I've told no one else."

"You found the vampire, didn't you."

Vincent nodded. "Underneath the church. I..."

"Did not kill it." Vincent nodded. The Father then gazed at him with those vacuous and despairing eyes. For a long while, they were silent, but finally, Father Hebner said, "You wish to seek my counsel."

"...yes."

"My son, look at me...

...But alas, I have taken your words to heart, and so I shall do my best to return the favor. Ask away."

He paused, completely unsure of what exactly it was he wanted to know. _nearly made him recall himself, but_ He knew it had to do with Yuffie, the wholly strange and intriguing mystery of innocence and evil. He wondered how she was _the pale, horrified, ghastly girl_ so naïve and ignorant and powerful at the same time. It was unfathomable that a vampire as young as her could've gained so much power after only a few decades of hunting humans. Every time he saw her in his mind's eye, he didn't see a sharp, deceitful, cunning, and devious aristocrat that languished in the manipulation of others, but... a childishly honest, wide-eyed, and completely tactless girl-child _flailing her arms to reach-reach-reach_ who shied away from him with a deep fear of pain, of... of a previous life that was even worse than that of a blood-seeker. _breathed through her neck_ She had the look... not of a vampire.

No, she looked... she looked more human than most humans. _no mommy no_

"Vincent?" Father Hebner asked when no question came from him for more than a minute. He ignored the question. _You've been alive for so long, Valentine,_ he mocked himself, _and you're confused about a little girl._

Finally, after an eternity spent thinking to himself, he started, "She..." The girl perplexed him in too many ways. _Tongue-tied, and for the first time in a very long time._ "…is immature. Childish."

Father Hebner turned his head, surprised. No doubt he hadn't been expecting such a statement, either. "Childish? What do you mean?"

Vincent composed his thoughts, wondering why the issue was so perturbing to him. _please don't _His eyes looked everywhere in the room, as if the answer he sought was somewhere in the sterile utensils of the treatment room.

"The mayor said there have been no vampire attacks for half a century. Is this true?"

The Father nodded, though a small, cynically sarcastic smile grazed his lips. "I've been alive fifty-one years, my son, and in all my life, Asgard has not once been attacked. God was kind to us."

Vincent accepted the statement easily; he trusted the Father's word far more than he did the mayor's. "Fifty years is too short for her to have done what she did, then..."

"Hm?"

"Raising a victim in the middle of the day is unheard of. Only the Ancients were ever that powerful, and they ruled for tens of thousands of years." He ignored the knowing gaze of the Father. _So he knows. It's no matter._ He could trust the Father more than he could anyone else in this town. "From what you say, and from the way she acted, she can't possibly be the vampire. Are you sure there've been no attacks in the past fifty years?"

"None, Vincent. I have no reason to lie to you."

Vincent conceded the point, but a heavy unease still filled him. "Then it must be her." There was too much doubt inside him to accept what he'd just said. There had to be something else going on...

"What is it, my son? I can tell that this is not your true question."

"...She told me that God lost faith in her." That wasn't it, or at least not ALL of it, but... it was currently the best he could think of.

His words seemed to confuse Father Hebner almost as much as it had him. "Did she now?" he asked thoughtfully. "Perhaps she was trying to... to trick you?" There was an almost imperceptible hitch in the Father's voice, but Vincent caught it plainly. The old man was putting up a good front, but he knew that the curse was working on him. He also knew what the undead Melantha had most likely said to him, to coax and coerce, to tempt and deceive him.

He shook his head, not sure why he was so convinced of the contrary. "No... She was... genuine. I never saw trickery in her eyes."

"Yet you also said that she could awaken a wraith in the middle of the day, an impossible feat. Do not be fooled by her, Vincent."

The advice was sound, and it was so very true, and yet... _momma no_

"She said her name was Yuffie." He looked up at the pastor to ask more, only to find an expression of awestruck fear. "What?" he demanded immediately.

"You... you said... Yuffie?" the Father beseeched.

Vincent nodded. "What is it, Father?"

"Oh, Yuffie... my poor, poor Yuffie..." Father Hebner suddenly sobbed, bringing his hands to his eyes. Another bout of coughs racked him, though, and he fell back into his bed, gasping in pain as the sensitive flesh on his cheeks and hands throbbed where they had contacted each other. Grating his teeth, Father Hebner settled for simply letting the tears stream down the sides of his face, moaning in a mixture of agony and desolation.

"What is it?" Vincent demanded again, this time a bit more roughly.

"Oh..." The pastor looked at him with wet eyes, and upon seeing him, began to weep some more. "Yuffie... Yuffie was... she was a girl... from this town... just twenty years ago... oh, Yuffie... why...?"

Father Hebner began to rant and mutter senselessly to himself, and Vincent reached around his collar to brandish the cross. The sight of it caused the priest to suddenly seize up and go stiff; Vincent immediately returned it to hiding, whereupon he just as suddenly went lax. "How do you know Yuffie, Father?" he asked.

"Y-y-y-you just..." Father Hebner stuttered, a deep tremor taking over his body as his dilated pupils darted all over Vincent crimson-cloaked form. "N-no... All my life, Vincent... A-all of it... devoted to H-H-Him... to Pater Noster and His Son... and now He has judged me unworthy for His kingdom..." He regarded Vincent strongly, with a touch – more than a touch, actually – of desperation. "P-P-Perhaps... Vincent, I have failed, haven't I? I have failed Him two times too many... Yuffie was my first fault, and Melantha my second... I am unworthy-"

The slap hurt much more because the Father was still so grievously injured from the burns, but Vincent had heard enough of his self-centered lamentations. "Father Hebner, tell me about Yuffie. Now."

There was a long moment in which not a single word escaped Father Hebner's lips. Despair wracked him so fully that he could scarcely think, much less talk. His mind felt numb, like the walls of his soul, his body, his being were all being disintegrated and he was becoming distorted, unwhole.

The moment finally passed and Father Hebner began to recount the history. "She was... a girl I knew sixteen years ago. Her parents died when she was young, and the other children always picked on her so... Oh, Yuffie..."

"Father," Vincent commanded as gently as he could when he saw Father Hebner losing focus again.

"She... She was always a lonely girl, but always so exuberant and outgoing around me... She loved the teachings of God, Vincent... She loved Him so much... She was a rascal, but whenever I read a verse, she sat and listened intently. And then one day, she simply... left." As he recalled the young girl, his own desolation was forgotten, and tears of mourning seeped like an endless river from his eyes. "The things the other kids did to her, Vincent... they were horrible, horrible children. She would come to the church with her clothes torn all to shreds, and I would give her a new set, only to have that pair ruined within the week. She tried so hard to hide the bruises and bloodstains, but they were always so numerous. And yet... no one was punished for hurting her. For chasing her out of town. No one cared for her, Vincent. Oh, my poor Yuffie..."

Father Hebner again broke into a fitful sob, but Vincent didn't think to quell him once again. It made more and more sense now that he knew more about her. There was still something missing, though, something he knew he had seen in her eyes when she muttered his name. _"He was always really mean to me."_ Something about that line struck a chord in him. Something was simply wrong. The words contrasted sharply against her actions, against her demeanor, against her entire personality. It spoke of something deep. Of something... traumatic.

Suddenly, he felt a very distinct and disturbing sensation crawl through his skin – empathy.

Empathy for a vampire.

_This is not the way things should be, _he muttered glumly, sarcastically. He hoped to God that what he was thinking was the right thing.

"Father," he asked. By this time, the priest had composed himself enough to concentrate on listening and responding to Vincent's questions. Even still, it was hard for Vincent to voice his concern, for it was one that he hadn't even considered just a few minutes prior. "I cannot spare her. You know that." The words were unconvincing even to his ears, but it was impossible to acknowledge the alternative.

Then he saw the same thought finally begin to take root in Father Hebner's head, the thought that yes, it WAS possible, that he could do it for her, he could- "Y-y-yes you can, Vincent! You know how to do it! I know you know! Oh, Vincent, I know it!"

It wasn't impossible to acknowledge the alternative. That wasn't the problem. The problem was...

"No, Father. There is no way to sa-"

"IF GOD CAN SAVE YOU, THEN HE CAN SAVE **HER!**"

He had said it. There it was, laid out in the open. If Vincent could be saved, then so could Yuffie. If one vampire could be saved, then so could another.

Now that there was nothing left to be said, Vincent simply looked at Father Hebner, and there was a certain sense of morbid understanding that settled over the priest. He saw, swirling in Vincent's flickering, not quite human eyes, the same sort of fear that ran through the depths of his own spirit. It was a fear that all men of God shared, that all men of God were taught to respect. And as Vincent stood up to leave, the same thought ran through both of their minds.

What if God didn't save him?

----____----

As the sun continued to droop over to the western horizon, Vincent made his way back to Lucrecia's residence, the townsfolk made their ways back to the town, the sheriffs and other men of Asgard erected more makeshift crosses, a friar under Father Hebner's tutelage blessed each doorway with holy water, Lucrecia finished cleaning the mess from the night before, and, in the cellar of the holy church, Yuffie dozed lightly, unaware that she had been spared by the hunter.

The geography of the Outer Plate was that of a flecked paintbrush. Various chunks of earth, both large and small, radiated outward from the massive central continent. The Inner Plate was situated, not surprisingly, in the midst of this supercontinent, acting as the one relatively safe and stable place in the world. The soil was distinctly nutrition-deprived and cracked dry, very much unlike the wild and untamed fields of the Outer Plate, but there was hardly a trace of anything that went bump in the night, much less the most feared enemies of humanity – vampires.

The Outer Plate stretched from partway inside the continent to the islands furthest away. Large and small islands alike jutted out from ocean waters like heavy reliefs against nature, all connected by a web of swirling rivers and outlets. The largest islands often acted as continents themselves, providing a settlement for thousands upon thousands of subsistence farmers.

The earth on which the town of Asgard stood was one such island, and it was fortunate in that it had a narrow passage of land that connected it to the mainland every few months when the waters receded, giving it precious access to easy trade and supplies.

At this time of the month, though, there was no hope of reaching the mainland, and as the night sky began to awaken, the settlers of the small fortress town huddled in their homes, clutching tiny crucifixes and whispering muffled citations of the Lord's Prayer, hoping to God that the invisible death that lurked their streets wouldn't smell them out and tempt them into the darkness.

And Vincent Valentine, confused and waning in faith, checked the blessings he had placed on the front door. When he saw that it had somehow been tampered with, that the vampire had somehow bypassed it, he began to feel a very deep and very real worry take root in the base of his spine. Had he been wrong in sparing the young vampire?

**Chapter 4: Mysteries of the Vampire END**

A/N: Hm... I'm surprised at how quickly this chapter was written. I hated it so much for... a long time, and then it practically wrote itself in a few weeks. Anyway, any and all reviews, critiques, flames, etc., are welcome. I hope you're enjoying reading this as much as I am writing it.

**Notes:**

Hojo – Reduced to a plot device. How 'bout that?

"We are all transient guests." – Vincent's line comes from the titular character of _Vampire Hunter D_, who states about vampires, "Transient guests are we."

"Frailty, thy name is Religion." – From the ever-great _Hamlet_ (Act I, Scene ii, line 146) – "Frailty, thy name is Woman."

"The Lord is my shepherd..." – Psalm 23.

Pater Noster – Latin, meaning "Our Father."


	5. Chapter 5: The Second Night Allemande

Redeeming Cain  
By Kaj-Nrig

Notes/Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII is the sole property of Square Enix Co., Ltd. I claim none of its characters, scenarios, or affiliations as my own.

**Chapter 5: The Second Night (Allemande)**

As he poured the last of the blessed water around the house, Vincent took a look at the large property. Reflecting some invisible light were the droplets of holy water strewn about the premises in an odd design; ten diagrams of ten interconnected circles each enclosed the main building, with the tenth ring of each diagram meeting around the house. It had taken much spiritual power – _And water_, Vincent added seriously – to erect such a large barrier, and, combined with the strain the day had taken on him, Vincent was now indubitably exhausted.

The final drop of holy water touched the ground, and he saw the ten designs softly soak into the ground and diffuse their spiritual powers through the entire household. Something suddenly tumbled inside the house and he rushed inside to find Lucrecia shaking her head wearily, resting against the hallway wall.

"Are you alright?" he asked, trying not to be too distracted by the way her nightgown slipped ever so slightly off her shoulder. His business in town had taken all day, and by the time he had returned, she had only managed to clear away the broken window debris from the front lawn and perform a few menial tasks. The cattle, at least, had been freed upon the fields of grass, though Vincent knew that they wouldn't last the night unless they were brought back into their pens before nightfall.

Lucrecia shook her head again, laughing at her own clumsiness. "S-sorry, Vincent. I'm just feeling a bit lightheaded, that's all." She pushed off the wall and onto unsteady feet, making her way to him. "This whole ordeal has ruined my schedule," she lamented softly. "I haven't had time to get to my chores today. I think if I can at least get the cows back into their shelters, I'll feel better."

Something about what she asked made him wary, but the restrained fatigue from the past two sleepless days began to creep into his eyelids. He shook his head wearily, trying to fight off sleep. "No, it's..." He fought back a yawn. "...It's close to dusk. You shouldn't go out-" His eyes closed of their own accord for half a moment, and he could barely fight through his fading senses.

"...ent... kay? ... Vin..." Lucrecia's beautiful face peered down at him through a fog, and he realized with rapidly diluting clarity that he had fallen down and was leaning against the same wall she had been...

But he was so tired...

----____----

"_momma! come back momma come back come-"_

He awoke with a start, though his body hardly moved. Slowly, ever so slowly, his eyelids fluttered open, and Vincent felt the dream-sweat gradually recede. Something flickered from outside the broken window, casting multiple shades of light on the living room walls, which in their turn cast multiple shades of shadows.

_What is..._ The light originated from sticks of oiled wood – torches. _Torches on the road..._ Vincent surmised dully, the bleariness of half-sleep still clouding his senses. _Torches to see... Torches... torches..._ Instantly, he was up and off the couch, feverishly looking around for any signs of Lucrecia. Was she in the kitchen? No, no. Her room, then? No, he remembered that she was too frightened to sleep by herself. Where, then-

It was then that he registered the clamorous raucity coming from outside, from amidst the torches and pitchforks that had reached all the way to the bottom steps of Lucrecia's front porch. Quickly, he went to the door and opened it, upon which the uproar increased tenfold. Taking a careful step out onto the porch – and firmly closing the door behind him (though what good would it do? he realized, seeing as there was a much larger entrance via the hole in the wall a few feet to his left) – Vincent spoke, in a voice just loud enough to silence those present, "What is going on here?"

The furor died fitfully, but as it did, a new one began, starting with, "Shutcher ass up, Hunter! Yer comin' with us!" As the din grew louder and louder, one of the men in the front of the group – an old, scrawny man wielding a large, rusted saw next to Mayor Foulke – made as if to spring up the stairs at him, but Vincent immediately drew his gun and gave the man reason to pause.

"I ask again: What is the town of Asgard doing here in the middle of the night?"

"Yes, I'd like to know, as well." There was an almost comical sound as every head turned to Lucrecia, who emerged from the darkness of the night in a pair of indecently low-cut jeans and a dirty, sleeveless shirt. His eyes narrowed slightly at her as she made her way to his side... but a part of him knew that he was simply making a face so that he could stare at her shapely figure for a while longer.

"Where were you?" he nearly hissed, placing the gun back in its holster.

"I-I'm sorry, Vincent, I thought- I thought that, since you'd already-"

The stutter in her voice made it that much harder, but still he chided, "You should know that going out when it's dark is unwise! An hour more, and you could have-"

"I know, I know, Vincent," she whispered back, placatingly, and again, the way his name slipped off her tongue seemed to drive him mad with desire, as if she had made love to it before letting it reluctantly slip away from her lips. "I just needed to finish something quickly. I won't do it again, I swear." He nodded grimly, wanting to say more, but somehow unable. It wouldn't have mattered, though, for Mayor Foulke suddenly slammed his heavy foot on the porch step and aimed a well-polished double-barreled shotgun at Vincent.

"Mayor Foulke!" Lucrecia demanded, pulling back in shock. "What is the meaning of this!?"

"Shut up, Lucrecia. This is between the hunter and us."

"As his employer, _I_ am the one to whom you must speak!"

Vincent shook his head, gazing evenly down the barrel sight at Mayor Foulke. "It's alright, Lucrecia," he said, putting his clawed hand up to stop her from making any unseemly movements.

"But-" she protested.

"It's fine. What is the matter, Mayor Foulke?" Slowly, gently, Vincent nudged the barrel away from his face, and Mayor Foulke grudgingly brought it down. The rest of the crowd wasn't quite as ready to talk, however, as a knife whipped out from the mass of people and sliced into the wooden porch. Lucrecia yelped, Vincent reached for his gun, and Mayor Foulke raised his hand to calm the crowd down.

"That's enough, folks! Johnson, stop that shit right now!" Turning to Vincent, the Mayor asked, "Where were you before now?"

Vincent stayed quiet. If they were to know that he hadn't been doing his job, it was possible that the lynch-mob here would completely lose control of themselves. And he was not sure if even he could fend off an entire town of enraged citizens. Just in case, though, his clawed arm gently pried open a vest pocket and palmed an orb. When the Mayor raised an eyebrow, he simply rested his hand there.

"I asked you a damn question, hunter! Where _were _you just before now!?" When he still didn't answer, the Mayor brought the shotgun back up. "Answer the question, hunter!"

"H-He was performing a blessing inside the house!" Lucrecia suddenly blurted out. Mayor Foulke looked disbelievingly at her, and then at Vincent. "Right, Vincent?" she said, turning to him expectantly.

"...right." The affirmation sounded weak even to his ears, but thankfully, the idiotic Mayor didn't seem to care much.

"So there's no reason for all this, is there, Mayor?" she asked, but the Mayor's gun had not dropped, and her face fell upon seeing the deadly serious countenance he wore. "...what is it, Mayor?"

Mayor Foulke practically snarled at him with his eyes, and it was at that moment that Vincent realized: the gun Mayor Foulke was wielding was none other than Sheriff Weston's. "What happened to the Sheriff?" he demanded.

At that, those within reach of his voice suddenly grew restless, as if they were ready to jump at him at any moment and tear him to pieces. Mayor Foulke, for his part, only grinned lasciviously.

"We found him in the middle of town, Hunter. Strung up on the cross like the Son Jesus Himself." Lucrecia gasped, and tears quickly rose to her eyes. The Mayor noted this with a touch of satisfaction and continued, "We here all figure that it's about damn time you did your job, hunter. You better come with us."

The news was unexpected to Vincent. But why should it have been? It was hardly unexpected for a vampire to-

_Yuffie..._ A cloud of red suddenly filled his vision, and through the distilled mixture of rage and shame that tinted his eyes, Vincent could see the mob taking a step back in fear of the red-eyed demon on the front porch. _So, you fooled me, as well, vampire._

He stepped forward, livid, stiff, to follow them, but Lucrecia suddenly stepped in front of him. "No!" she yelled. "No, he did nothing wrong! You can't possibly think that Vincent did-"

"Out of the way, woman! Either he comes, or we throw _both_ of you into the forest!"

----____----

_Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ woman._ The sentiment repeated and repeated itself in his mind as the mob made their way to the forest, he and Lucrecia at the front of the pack. _Stupid, stupid, _stupid _woman._

_But brave._

Oh, he was falling hard, indeed. It was almost a shame that after tonight, either the vampire would be dead and he would be on his way or he would be dead and Lucrecia would be left at the mercy of a mere child-vamp. He laughed at the thought. Lucrecia looked curiously at him, but he made no move to allay her curiosity.

The entrance to the forest gaped at them like the maw of some ancient petrified beast. The moonlight above shone brilliantly on the top of the trees, where silver-tipped nightbirds turned the canopies into hauntingly beautiful displays of reflected and refracted lights. The glittering was almost artful, almost endearing and mesmerizing, but he, along with everyone else here, knew that those same nightbirds would swoop down in the hundreds, all of them at once, to snatch some unlucky and or unwary person and carry them up into their lofts, where their sharp beaks would tear open the person's flesh and expose their innards, in which the birds would roost and lay their eggs, and the person would be slowly pecked away from the inside out.

The crowd stopped at the entrance to the forest, a throng of orange-tinted bodies surrounded on all sides by the oppressive blackness of the night. Two men, sheriffs Vincent had worked with just a few hours earlier, rudely shoved both him and Lucrecia forward and into the cover of the trees.

"Stay close to me," Vincent replied, but there was no need to warn her, for she clung to his arm as if it were her own. Her eyes glittered with tears and the light of the townspeople's torches, and in them he saw an incensed and righteous fury at their injustice. _He did nothing _wrong_,_ she had insisted, and for that, had been forced into exile for the night – and likely for eternity, for she wouldn't likely come out of there alive. Or at all, they surely hoped.

"Get going, you two. Keep walking, straight into that forest. If I so much as _think _that I see either of you trying to come back, I'll shoot you myself. Am I clear?" To emphasize this, Mayor Foulke slammed the barrel of his... of John Weston's shotgun into the palm of his hand.

"You're just as bad as the vampire, Larry Foulke," Lucrecia snapped, spitting on the ground by his feet. "I hope you know that."

There was a sudden sharp crack, and Lucrecia shrieked again and hid behind Vincent's cloak, shuddering. Mayor Foulke snickered, opening up the shotgun and reloading a shell into the empty barrel before snapping it closed again. "Don't think that none of this is your fault, Lucrecia. If it hadn't been for you and your pretty sister's good looks, we wouldn't be in this mess right now."

"Y-You-" Lucrecia began, but Vincent quickly grasped her shoulder and pulled her into the forest.

"Let's go," he commanded briskly. Then, once they were out of earshot, he let her go and readied his handgun. "Don't worry," he told her in as calming a voice as he could manage. "I'll protect you. I promise."

With that said, the two of them made their way, side by side, into the forest, into Hell.

----____----

_...f_a_th_ER_... _heb_ner..._

He flinched in his sleep, as if caught in a bad dream. There were...

_..._h_eBn_e_r..._

...where_ did youGAHgo...  
...yu... yuf_fie_..._

He flinched again, turning fitfully in his bed and moaning as his burnt skin pulsed in agony.

hee_HEEhee_HAH_..._

m... Mich... mich_DEADa_e_l...  
..._fath_... faTHER..._

...i've found youFATH_ER_ho_wd_oe_sIT_FEEL_HO_Who_w_HOW_doesITf_eel_HOWdoesDOESITFEEL_

He shrieked and tumbled off the bed. Th-th-the voices, they were

_Hellllll...o, Father..._

Father Hebner's eyes traveled everywhere, the room swirled around him, he looked behind him at where the voice came from but nothing

_here _HEREhereHEREHE_heHEhereo_ver_HEREhereHEREhere_HEHE_HEREOVERHERE_FATher  
_father...  
..._

He whimpered, seeing the cold darkness of the room, the shadows in the corners, hearing the voices coming from those invisible shadows, and he closed his eyes squeezed them tightly he saw the dark spaces of nonsight more faces faces masks hellish he opened eyes and faces lunged "Helloooo.o.o..o..o...o... Father."

The air itself chilled at that insidious rasp, and the Father felt the frozen whisper crawl along the back of his neck. _father_What could possibly have been _fath _so frigid as to bring a cold chill to even the _fatherfather _ephemeral air? Father Hebner turned, eyes askance, knowing but hoping it wasn't

"Begone Satan!" The form was undeniable and he flailed wildly and grasped at the cross on the table knocking over a tray in the process The cross, the cross, where was the Ah, there it was! he grabbed at it and out of the corner of his eye he no longer saw the Devil and then his hands closed on the cross

"_Aaaaaaah!"_

It burned! It burned him! but he held, he held onto it while it burned, while he cried out his penance and his suffering and while tears poured out past his burnt eyelids, because he believed, he always believed in G- in Go

_sayit_SAYITSAY_say_sayIT_fatherFA_the_rfa_FAFA_hereTHER_over_hereOVERFATHER_

You ca_n't_ _say _it_ ANY_mor_E._

And the whole room cackled, the room with the entire Underworld in it shrieked in one long, tumultuous wail. He fell to his knees, seeing, unbelieving, the liquid remnants of the crucifix dribbling from his clenched hands. "Oh, oh, oh..." He shivered and wept and spat out the mucus that rolled into his mouth.

"Helloooo.o.o..o..o...o... Father."

The voice a human voice? made him look up and there... stood Doctor Justinian Fisher, an ungodly sneer slashed across his face.

**Chapter 5: The Second Night (Allemande) END**

A/N: Nuthin' much to say. Hope you liked it. The next chapter will be decidedly longer than this one.

**Notes:**

"...ten diagrams of ten interconnected circles..." – Each diagram is the _Systema Sephiroticum_ (or the "System of the Sephirot"), a representation of the ten natures or "personalities" of God. The ring that all the diagrams share, which encircles Lucrecia's house, is Keter (Crown). Keter represents, among many things, the penultimate nature of God.


	6. Chapter 6: The Second Night Courante

Redeeming Cain  
By Kaj-Nrig

Notes/Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII is the sole property of Square Enix Co., Ltd. I claim none of its characters, scenarios, or affiliations as my own.

**Chapter 6: The Second Night (Courante)**

The forest was quiet, an auspicious sign. Lucrecia clung close to him, her fearful eyes darting every which way. Vincent, for the most part, kept as calm as possible. No moonlight shone through the thick canopy, yet an eerie light still illuminated the forest, radiating from nowhere and everywhere at once. He had earlier cast an eye askance at his shadow but found that it was twisted and malformed, bent out of shape by that disturbing glow. There were no patches of gloom in this forest, no spots of brightness, only that unsettling monochrome light everywhere. It reminded Vincent of a phrase from long ago, a proverb that most likely didn't exist anymore, having evaporated into the mists of time: _"When you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you."_

_Hm... How appropriate._

Vincent worked hard to keep his rage under control – he knew it was not like him to hold onto a grudge like this. He also knew that it was not at all surprising that Yuffie would have attacked someone. She was a vampire, after all. Still, he found himself clenching and unclenching his clawed hand, marring the glass orb held therein with jagged white crisscrosses.

He led Lucrecia further into the forest, to the point where they could no longer see the entrance if they looked back. The trees here were large and spaced widely apart. Their trunks reached extraordinary lengths, and even Vincent, who had seen many awesome sights in his lifetime, was partly stunned by their sheer size. They stretched up for what seemed like miles, their branches spread out like the webs of giant spiders, so effectively blotting out the sky that nothing but short, sparse grass grew beneath them.

Strangely enough, there was nary a sign of creature or beast. No birds swooped down to peck at their flesh, no wolves jumped out at them from behind the massive tree trunks, no man-eating insects crawled out of their holes to swarm the two of them. In a twist of irony – or perhaps it was foreboding – the forest was deathly quiet.

"V-V-Vincent..." Lucrecia began.

"Shh," he commanded quietly. "Something is not right. Stay cl-"

"No, Vincent, _look_," she insisted, gesturing toward a massive beech tree to their right. A large metal object protruded from it, some sort of four-pronged object which had been shoved with what seemed to be incredible force into the tree's bark.

Vincent tried to shake off the effects of the disquietingly silent forest, but the persistent sense of being watched, of being stalked, of being toyed with, would not disappear. As they made their way to the scarred tree, she holding onto his left arm and he keeping his gun arm tense and ready to snap to any sign of movement, he heard a small grunt of disgust issue from Lucrecia.

"Wh-what is it, Vincent?" she whispered fearfully. He noticed with mild surprise the way her fingers clenched ever so slightly on his arm, as if wanting to claw at something.

"I don't know," he admitted. "A... A weapon of some sort. Some kind of throwing weapon. Is this a common tool in your town?" She shook her head emphatically, a flicker of anger flashing through her eyes. "Then it must be... there. Look."

He gestured to another tree in the distance, which had been almost indiscernible before in the strange, grayscale twilight. This one was marked by a large gouge in its side, and as he looked back at the star-shaped weapon lodged in the tree next to him, he realized that the gouge was just about the shape of one of the weapon's four sides.

"Come on," he told Lucrecia, gently pulling her hesitant frame with him.

"W-wait, Vincent!" she murmured. "I-I-I can't. I'm sorry, I can't. I can't go any further. L-L-L-Look at m-me," she whimpered, glancing down with terrified eyes at her quivering legs. "L-L-Look, let's just... let's just go back, okay? I'm sure Mayor Foulke will understand if we just _explain_ to him that you're not at fault and even if they won't listen to us they can't possibly still be there anymore I mean it's already been half an hour the townspeople should already be back inside Asgard by now please-"

Her quivering lips, the frightened rabbit look in her eyes, the way her sleeveless shirt clung tightly to her chilled bosom, all these overcame him, and before he could stop himself, he had gently slapped her before sealing his lips against hers. It was erotic, so intensely sensual, a kiss that was fueled completely by hunger and lust and the knowledge that he was doing this to her in Hell of all places, and he felt her respond to him, the two of them clinging tightly to each other as their lips reacted feverishly to each other.

_Delicious, so delicious, I would make love to you right now-_

Then he pulled back, leaving her panting and breathless, with a small, delicious moan slowly trickling out of her abused lips.

"I promise you, Lucrecia. I _will_ protect you," he managed to swear after a few steadying breaths.

She nodded faintly to that, her long, beautiful fingers coming up to caress her flushed and parted lips, all with a mild glaze over her eyes like she were lost in a trance.

He put the chipped ball of glass back into his pocket, grabbed her hand, and followed the path that had been torn out of the trees.

----____----

As they moved further and further into the forest, the shadowless monochrome light eventually dimmed until it almost matched the darkness of the middle of the night. There always seemed to be just enough illumination for them to see where they were going and to make out details in the fog, but everything was still wrapped in shades of black and purple and cerulean that Vincent almost began to wonder what time it really was.

He had never known of anything so-

They came to a wide clearing after walking for what felt like both hours and instants. The trees formed a large circle around the patch of grass, but when he looked up, he still could not make out the moonlight or the stars. All he saw was a perpetual blackness that, if he stared too long, began to feel as if it was swallowing him up.

Like a scrape of chalk on a blackboard, in the middle of the clearing, where a moment ago had been nothing, stood a suited man. His pale skin and crimson hair seemed to possess their own light, standing in sharp contrast to the abysmal darkness surrounding him. His undershirt shared the same intense, ultra-white flush, but the rest of his outfit appeared as dark and mellifluous as the ebony surrounding it, giving Vincent the impression of looking at a disembodied head and hands.

"I can assure you I mean you no harm," the man, if he was a man, calmly spoke when Vincent trained his gun on him.

Vincent felt Lucrecia shuddering behind him, staring with abject terror at the robin-haired apparition that had so suddenly appeared. It was no wonder she was frightened; if he hadn't known any better, Vincent himself would have thought that the man was a ghost. Perhaps he _was_ a ghost.

"Who are you? Are you human?" Vincent asked, keeping his gun aimed squarely at the "person's" head.

The body bowed deeply and politely, one smooth motion of down with right arm sweeping and up with right arm returning to its original position. "'Who?'" he repeated, his light voice almost tickling Vincent's skin in a way that was completely disgusting. "'Who' is but a function of 'what,' and _what_ I am, as you so rightly ask, is decidedly _in_human."

_A poet..._ Vincent grimaced. "State your name."

"Ah, indeed, how pruriently impolite of my person, most powerful prince. You, who proffer your exceptional physical prowess from the populous Inner Plate, having put into play the expiration of many plus a vampire, have my sincerest apologies, and putting past us that painful experience prior, let me simply add that it's my very good honor to meet you and you may call me Turk."

There was a small silence after the long, eloquent monologue before Vincent spoke again. "Why did you lead us here?"

The thing named Turk shrugged, spreading his hands to signify his ignorance. "It was not I, dear hunter, who scored those trees to your backs, if that is what you are suggesting. The simple job requested of me was to wait here and greet you in time, though I find that my hospitality was perhaps misplaced, as I have given my name and you have yet to offer yours or that of your beautiful blushing bride behind you, though I suppose it would not be very difficult for one such as I to take a gander at the name by which she goes."

"Who told you we would be here?"

"I play the role of a simple messenger, hunter, and perhaps that of a steward for her honored guests, if they will be so kind as to come with me. Additionally, I have shown you neither hostility nor ill respect. Common courtesy would suggest that you offer the same respect.

"But," he added, bringing up a hand to halt Vincent's retort, "as it is not my place to reprimand you, good Sir, I do apologize for my forwardness and uncouth behavior."

Vincent considered the pale, thin man's words carefully, searching for any signs of malice or deceit, but slowly lowered his gun when he could find none.

"Vincent Valentine," he answered at last.

"Vin... cent... Va... len... tine..." the inhuman man repeated, his voice pausing after every syllable as if to taste each sound. Figuring his apparent love for words, he was probably doing just that. "Ah, how vicious yet valorous such a name is! Vincent, Valentine, Vee, Vee... Victory and Love: a vile, venomous, visceral contradiction, both vehemently vying to verify the veracity of the vampire's villain, and yet vicariously befitting of a virtuous vanguard such as the visage before me, this very Vincent Valentine. Ahhh... Voila!" The man, his dress suit inked like the empty space between the night sky and the horizon, turned his back to them and, with a great flourish, plucked a midnight-hued shade almost seemingly from thin air, revealing an intricately-decorated carriage. The vehicle almost seemed to have appeared from nowhere; such was the darkness of the cloth now hanging from Turk's fingers, though to be honest, Vincent could scarcely see where the cloth and suit and night were differentiated.

"In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran cast vicariously as the _avante-garde_ of his venerable vampiress. This visage, once a vestige of the _vox populi_, now stands very nearly vanished – as you may visibly verify – and has vowed to valiantly vivify without vacat his master's visitor's every verdict, be it a vengeance, a vendetta, or, as she advocates, a verification of a vicissituding view on vampirism. Yet may we not avast, lest vainer vermin-"

Vincent hurriedly grasped Lucrecia's hand, very nearly puncturing her skin in the process, as he scooted past the annoyingly verbose creature. "Yes, let's go," he interrupted frustratedly, quickly unlatching the carriage door and entering after Lucrecia.

_I hate poets._

----____----

"Vincent, this is not good." Lucrecia shuddered uncontrollably, rocking back and forth with her arms limply wrapped around her shoulders; with squirrely eyes, the beautiful young woman's gaze darted back and forth between the two side windows, she almost flinching as something in the forest flashing by caught her attention. "This is not good," she repeated, bringing a hand up to her lips so she could gnaw nervously on her thumb.

Amidst the tension and his anxiousness to know in which direction they were going, Vincent found himself oddly aroused by her behavior. Every time her eyes quickly met his before glancing away, every little bump that caused the open neckline of her shirt to reveal more and more of her succulent bust, every single flicker of her cloud-white teeth caused him to forget more and more of the peril and danger they were in. If he hadn't known otherwise, he would've thought that she was doing it on purpose.

He reached out and grasped her hand, part of him worrying that she'd accidentally chew it off, and part of him suddenly unable to stand not touching her. The kiss he had stolen from her was still fresh and heady in his mind, and as he felt her smooth fingers under his own far rougher ones, he remembered the way those same fingers had fluttered to her lips. He was tempted to see whether they tasted just as luscious and captivating... but he suddenly shook himself back to his senses and simply caressed her wrist.

"Everything's fine, Lucrecia," he assured her. Tried to. She nodded absent-mindedly, still shuddering and twitching, but at least the tremors he felt through her hand had subsided somewhat.

They'd been traveling for just under two minutes when the cart slowly came to a stop. Releasing her hand and going for the handgun at his side, Vincent's eyes narrowed as he tracked the sound of grass crunching under feet; the footfalls were barely audible, though, a clear reminder of the unearthly nature of their chauffer.

_We're hardly a mile into the forest... a mile and a half at best._

The thought was of little comfort; they'd be able to make their way out of the forest fairly quickly if things went sour (which he had a strong suspicion would be a likely scenario), but this was still a forest of death that they were in – every step of the way would be contested, even if there were no signs of any monsters.

Especially if there were no signs of any monsters.

The side door opened soundlessly, and again Vincent was met with a seemingly disembodied head and torso. "We have reached the castle, Sir hunter, Mademoiselle. If you please." His horribly pale hand gestured for them to step forth; Vincent complied warily, and after a bit of coaxing, so did Lucrecia.

The night was darkest here, and although Vincent could still see just fine, the darkness was so complete that he could hardly make out the castle's silhouette against the black sky. The absence of stars in that pot of ink struck Vincent as incredibly ominous; not even he had ever-

The thought escaped him as his attention turned to the blinding flare of torches being lit. They illuminated the base of a large double door, and other torches spontaneously bursting into life finished the job.

"This way, honored guests." The two of them traded glances before leaving the safety of the cart – _No horses_, Vincent noted grimly and without surprise – and taking their first step into the vampire's castle.

If the night sky was a nightmare, then the main hall was almost certainly its mate. Six large marble pillars marked the way from entrance to throne room, stretching from the cold, stone-padded floor to the interminable ceiling above. It seemed to Vincent that the castle was as tall as the night outside was. Torches along these columns also flickered into being, though their light merely outlined the red carpeting upon which he and Lucrecia treaded. Turk's form seemed to emerge and disappear with the light, a disturbing sight in its own way; it was as if the "man" could transform himself, becoming an inky liquid by night and a solid, material object by day. Vincent made more and more notes about him.

Peering beyond the scope of the light, Vincent could make out the dark silhouettes of monsters and creatures of all sorts, all hording around them, all held back by the merest command of the resident vampire. Again, an oddity. One so young as her could not have possibly had the power she did.

The conglomerate of demons and trolls reached even the second floor balcony, where creatures with snake tails and dogs' heads and bat wings played games with the stone gargoyles keeping steadfast vigil. Vincent was sure that there were even more above them, and more above them, and up and up until the castle ended, if it ended.

"There is no need for alarm, Sir hunter. We promise only peace. These brutes and barbarians, though they lack anything to satisfy their appetites, wallow only in the shadows, and their fangs are bared through habit. My mistress promises you that no harm will come to you."

"I killed many of their kind a few days ago," Vincent said, bellowing loudly enough for the echoes to reach the demons. "I wonder if their restraint will hold if they know that?"

Disappointingly, apart from an increased venom in their growls, the creatures offered no reaction. "They are loyal to their mistress, Sir hunter," Turk explained.

"Also to their stomachs, in my experience."

"It is in their nature, Sir hunter. Is nature a thing to be condemned?"

"No. The Devil's work, though, is."

"And you would know what the Devil's work is?"

"I have seen _one_ of the Devil's works, and I intend to abolish it."

"Indeed, and yet how very self-righteous of you. Judging by your eyes, Sir hunter, were you not once-"

"My time will come when it comes."

"Very well. I apologize if I offended you, Sir."

He offered only a grunt in return. "_Apologize."_ The man likely thought this was all a game.

"Here we are. Your Majesty, I present to you Sir Vincent Valentine and the Mademoiselle Lucrecia Crescent."

A massive chandelier in the ceiling above suddenly showered the entire chasm with light, revealing the mistress of the castle standing directly in the middle of the room. Writhing along the walls, in a disgusting orgy, were masses upon masses of limbs, scales, slime, tendrils, wings, eyeballs, bones, and flesh. Lucrecia yelped at the sudden horrid spectacle, almost fainting dead on the spot save for Vincent quickly scooping her up.

"Nasty, ain't it?" Yuffie muttered, wrinkling her own nose at the sight. "Just to let you know, I had nothing to do with all this."

"Why did you kill the Sheriff?" Vincent demanded, unholstering his gun. Ironically, he found himself a bit more at ease with the young vampire girl in this foreboding castle than in either Lucrecia's home or the confines of Asgard. She wore a simple yet elegant lavender dress which parted on either side to reveal smooth, lithe legs. The dress was almost the antithesis of her gaudy outfit the night before - instead of revealing every square inch of her skin, it hid everything in a plain sheet of pinkish purple, yet it still hugged and conformed to her body in all the right places so as to give the young girl a deceivingly passive and demure seductiveness. Her arms were bare, the wound in her right shoulder already indiscernible, and her high-heeled pumps matched her dress; though they did little to heighten her, they did serve to lend her an added air of grace and nobility. The matching amethyst earrings likewise resonated with her glowing eyes, which now radiated a soft, gentle purple light rather than the gray he'd seen previously. The air of restrained, repressed sexuality was thick in the air, and Vincent could nearly taste the despicable desire growing like puss inside of his stomach.

_That_ was the trademark of the vampire.

"Who?" Yuffied asked, leaning forward as if speaking to a little child. The neckline of her dress dipped ever so slightly to present him with an unencumbered view of her petite breasts, and she rose again, her eyes twinkling when they caught his, knowing that he had most definitely noticed.

_If you were looking to play a game, vampire, you chose wrongly._

"Don't play dumb with me, vampire."

She smiled at him, a small, coy flick of the lips as she slowly, ever so slowly turned around – her dress was backless, as it was – and strode to her throne, her hips swaying ever so gently that he almost thought she wasn't doing it on purpose. _You certainly are trying your hardest,_ Vincent thought.

Yuffie sat down, smiling prettily at him and ever so casually crossing her legs at the knees, displaying more pale, gentle skin in the process. "Well, Vincent – mind if I call you that? – first of all, I don't think there's any need to be so official." The way she said his name was almost as intoxicating and provocative as the way Lucrecia did, and Vincent found himself gripping the his gun tighter and tighter. "I'll call you Vincent, you call me Yuffie, and let's just forget last night ever happened, unless you get off on that sort-"

Her sickening come-ons turned into a loud and satisfying shriek as Vincent fired. The bullet shot past her head, fluttering the hair on the left side of her face, and slammed into the throne behind her. Wheeling off of her seat, Yuffie eyed him with a venomous disgust that bore no traces of her attempted allurement. "What the hell was that for!?" she yelled, all pretenses of seduction now completely forgotten. Turk, standing next to her, instantly jumped between the two of them, glaring quietly at him with much the same expression as Yuffie.

"I'm through playing your games, vampire," Vincent responded through clenched teeth of his own. "Answer my question or the next bullet goes in your head!"

"If you'd stop _shooting_ at me, maybe I would!" Yuffie retorted from behind Turk, clutching at her neck where a small piece of shrapnel had cut her. Then, after a moment, she continued, "Besides, I didn't kill anybody! Once the sun went down, I double-timed it back here!"

"You lie!" he accused, pressing the trigger-

Before even he could react, Turk had rushed at him, twisted the gun out of his grip, and planted a kick into his sternum, sending him plummeting across the expansive throne room. Lucrecia yelped in alarm and came rushing to his side almost instantly, but he had eyes only for Turk.

Tossing Vincent's gun on the floor to land in front of the hunter, Turk again stood between him and Yuffie, a faithful servant carefully guarding his highness. "Her Majesty is not lying, Sir hunter. Does your prejudice against your own kind keep you ignorant of the truth?"

Vincent readied a retort, but bit it back. He came to his feet and grabbed his gun.

"Whether you killed him or not is irrelevant," he said at last. "More importantly, the person who turned-"

"Uh uh, wait!" Yuffie chided playfully, peeking out from behind Turk. Apparently, now that the moment was gone, she had deserted her plans to seduce him. "Remember the church?"

"Church...?" Lucrecia echoed, giving Vincent a quizzical look.

"What of it?" he returned.

"Well, I seem to recall that we made a deal: you ask a question, then I ask a question."

"That was not-"

"Okay, then, I guess it's goodbye-"

"Wait!" he suddenly yelled, and in that moment he knew that he had lost whatever measure of control of the situation he might have had. Yuffie, also realizing this, positively beamed.

"Yes?" she said, drawing out the sound until she fairly mocked him. _She's having fun with this._

Which gave him time to realize that he had _not_ lost all control, as he had previously thought. "Get rid of your servants," he said, gesturing to the countless writhing bodies slobbering up the walls. "As a sign of good faith."

"'A sign of good...'" Yuffie repeated slowly before tossing her head back and laughing hysterically. Doubling over, clutching her sides, the perverse young vampire guffawed until she had to wipe tears from her eyes. Vincent, for his part, felt that intense rage once again starting to press against the inside of his skull, pulsing ever so slightly in time with her laughter.

Between loud burst of laughter, Yuffie continued, "Y-you... Ohhh, Vincent, you're a funny guy... Heheh... L-look, I... I'd be more than happy to oblige you, but... eheh... but like I told you before, they aren't taking orders from me."

"Your servant, then. Turk."

Yuffie smiled at that, laughing a bit in a sort of haughty amusement. "D'you really think I'm that stupid, Vinnie?"

The abbreviation of his name felt like she had just violated him, catching Vincent off-guard. The way she said it... Her voice was warm and inviting, friendly and playful, with just a hint of haughtiness and invitation that created a spark of heat inside him that was altogether unsettling. He was tempted to bring the gun up again, but a look at Turk's relaxed form suddenly tightening made him stay his hand. _This is not a good situation to be in,_ he mused.

"But..." Yuffie brought a slim, young finger to her lips and made a show of thinking. Finally, she said, "Turk, how about you go and..." Here she thought a little longer. "I dunno, just go."

"Your Majesty, I-" Turk began, but Yuffie silenced him with a shushing motion of the hand.

"It's okay, Turk," she explained. "Our guest Vinnie here isn't very trusting, but I've got a feeling he won't try anything funny. I trust him." The final sentence was spoken with Yuffie's eyes planted firmly on Vincent's, and the hunter grudgingly holstered his weapon.

"Vincent!" Lucrecia whispered in alarm.

"It's okay," he insisted, slowly revealing to them his empty hand.

Turk glanced at him, glanced at Yuffie, and bowed lightly before stepping to the side and striding past them to the castle's main courtroom. "My apologies, Vincent Valentine, for striking you," he offered as he passed them, all the while casting a suspicious eye at Lucrecia. As he passed into the darkness of the castle courtroom, his dress once again seemed to blend into the darkness, and it was only after his bleached face and scarlet-colored hair disappeared that Vincent turned to address Yuffie.

The girl had not returned to her seat; instead, the girlish vampire was twirling lightly about the floor, her lavender heels not making a single sound even when they struck hard on the stone surface.

"What is your question?" he asked, weary of her constant giddiness.

"Oh, come on. Let's dance, first."

"No."

"Poopy-head." She stopped in mid-rotation, letting her dress twirl sensuously around her hips. "Okay, then. One question... One question, one qu- Got it. What's the story behind those weird eyes of yours?"

Vincent felt sorely tempted to shoot her right then and there, for he would be damned before he told her anything more about himself.

...but then he would have nothing to go on. It was clear that she wasn't the one behind all this. She was hardly a vampire at all; there was certainly no way that she could have been responsible for Melantha's death and later midday resurrection. On top of that, there was the matter of the last attack sixty years ago. Something about the Elena girl just didn't feel right...

He would have to risk it. Moreover, even if Yuffie tried to use that information against him, he knew that he could easily dispatch of her.

Vincent opened his mouth to speak, but was halted by a tug on his arm. "Vincent, please... let's get out of here..." Lucrecia pleaded, her gaze darting from one monstrous creature on the wall to another.

"In a moment, Lucrecia. They will not hurt you. You have my word," he reassured her before turning back to Yuffie.

----____----

"I was turned long ago. I was one of the oldest. I existed for a long time, trying to find some way to cure myself. It was only after extensive research that I finally managed to undo the vampirism, and I became human again. The process..." Vincent grimaced, examining the claw on his hand. "...well, it had its flaws."

They were quiet for a moment, until Yuffie suddenly exploded with laughter. Her giggles echoed off the walls until she became a stadium of people, all laughing at Lucrecia and him. "What?" she exclaimed between uncontrollable laughs. "You! Were a vampire! And you- And you turned yourself back!" Vincent sighed as Yuffie once again keeled over, wiping the tears from her eyes when she was finally finished.

"You don't believe me."

"Of course I don't! Who do you think I am, an idiot?"

_One wonders..._

"That is my answer, vampire," he said bluntly, continuing the conversation. "Now it is my turn. The woman who turned-"

"Nuh-uh, that's not fair, Vinnie!" Yuffie suddenly retorted, wagging her finger at him. "I thought you trusted me enough to tell me the truth?" To her credit, Yuffie managed to sound almost sincere, despite the fact that she said it with a wide grin on her face.

"That _is_ the truth, vampire-"

"The name's Yuffie."

"...Yuffie. If you don't believe me, that is not my fault. Now either answer my question or I kill you."

"Fine, fine. Shoot."

"The-"

"Not literally, I mean."

"What?"

"Shoot. Don't shoot literally."

Vincent's teeth clashed roughly as he snapped, "The vampire who turned you. What happened to her?"

Yuffie instantly silenced at that. Her mock playfulness became a sharp, wary apprehension. She straightened up and stared at them, not with hatred or curiosity, but with... anxiety? Vincent couldn't tell. Then her eyes twitched ever so slightly, and he glanced at Lucrecia as she clung desperately onto his arm, and in her eyes he saw-

The monsters roared to life and crashed to the floor from their perch.

"Let's go, Lucrecia!" he shouted above the clamor of the throng of beasts, pulling his left arm free from her grasp and reaching into a pocket. A few moments later, three reports sounded and three walls of ice flew into the mob, and he and Lucrecia were rushing back toward the entrance. As they fled, he managed one furious glance back at Yuffie, and through the hodgepodge of tentacles, fangs, claws, and talons, Vincent saw only an expression of puzzled disbelief. Then her face was swallowed by the barrage of fiends and Vincent found himself scrambling with Lucrecia through the suddenly pitch-black castle.

----____----

They flew through the forest like two stars in the night, one crimson and the other an unstained white. The entire horde of the forest closed in around them, and they would have been eviscerated long before had it not been for the thunderous hammerfalls of Vincent's firearm. It expelled jets of flame, giant skewers of ice, and gouts of electricity as if it were the embodiment of Thor himself, and thanks to it, the two of them continued their hectic sprint back toward Asgard.

"The forest is getting lighter!" Vincent shouted above the din of howls and chattering behind them. "We're almost there!"

Something swooped down from the forest canopy and he sent a bullet to meet it. The nightbird's right wing, almost two feet in length, exploded in a shower of blood and feathers as the bullet shattered its thin, frail bone and sheared its textured skin. Neither of them looked back as they continued their wild sprint, but Vincent could hear other nightbirds slamming into their wounded brother, tearing its flesh apart.

"Keep runni-"

"Ah!" He skidded to a halt and looked back. Struggling on the forest floor, Lucrecia was furiously kicking to try and pry her leg away from a tree root that had reached out of the earth. "Get it off, Vincent, get it-"

The ominous and ancient bellow of the monsters proceeding through the mists of the forest became louder and louder as he rushed over and slashed rapidly at the living root. He pried her leg free from the tree's grasp, but even as they got back to their feet, Vincent saw that the massive Ent had served its purpose – the forest's entire populace was nearly upon them.

"V-Vincent...!" Lucrecia shouted, scrambling behind him as he turned to face the oncoming tidal wave.

"The forest entrance isn't far away," he muttered, loudly enough so that only she could hear. "Run, and don't look back. You can make it back in less than five minutes if you keep running."

"Wha- B-Bu-Bu-"

"Go! Now!" he ordered, snapping sharply so that she jumped, startled, and immediately did as told before she could think any better.

As Lucrecia faded away into the murky gray light, Vincent turned back to the crowd and ejected the spent clip. _This will be painful._

The cacophony made his entire body vibrate in time with the unholy creatures' bloody chorus, and Vincent quickly loaded another clip, feeling the comfortable snap of the slide kicking into place.

Just beyond his sight, lost in the thick fog that seemed to glow in this strange shadowless light, the monsters rumbled but did not advance. He could imagine the sight: scores and scores of giant snakes and orcs and trolls and imps, all stacked on the branches of the trees, filling the entire forest in front of him.

Suddenly, something leapt out from that illuminated smoke and landed with a deafening crash in the ground directly between Vincent and the mob. Vincent readied his firearm, eyes peering into the smoky debris that was billowing up from the creature's descent from on high.

"Vincent Valentine... my quarrel is not with you, Sir hunter." The smoke cleared slowly, but the voice that drifted out from it was unmistakable.

"Turk."

"Indeed it is I, Sir hunter, who beseeches you. Stand aside, set your self-ordained, self-sustained vow of servitude aside. I seek to see to it that Lucrecia Crescent suffers sufficiently for her sins against us."

Vincent reached inside a pocket and grasped another glass orb. "She has done nothing but mourn the loss of her sister and fear that you and your kind will eventually take her humanity. You will step no further."

"'Take her humanity...'" Turk chuckled mockingly at that. "Very well, then, Vincent Valentine. Let us see how powerful that 'humanity' of yours is." The humanoid figure flicked both wrists casually, and two weapons slipped from his sleeves into his hands: in his right, an extendable metal rod; and in his left, a jet-black pistol. His long, sinuous crimson hair seemed to signal to Vincent as it whipped about him, almost with a life of its own. Turk twirled the weapons in his hands.

"Prepare yourself."

**Chapter 6: The Second Night (Courante) END**

A/N: So. Finally, an update. I hope you like the story thus far; I'm certainly having fun writing it. Anyway, that's that, and see you next chapter.

**Notes:**

The forest's "shadowless" light – A concept mostly stolen from Chapter 14 of Mark MacKinnon's _On a Clear Day You Can See Forever_. Whether you like Ranma ½ or Sailor Moon or neither or both, you owe it to yourself to read this amazing work of fiction.

Turk – Two notes on Turk. 1 – Yes, his visual design is a take on Reno of the Turks. 2 – His speech is partly inspired by the character V from _V for Vendetta_. His first two lines are almost exactly the same as V's from the movie adaptation. I wouldn't say that V constantly spoke alliteratively, of course. It was just fun experimenting with the technique, that's all.

Ents – Tree spirits in a similar vein as Tolkien's _Lord of the Rings_. If anyone knows of any words for "male tree spirits," I'd be more than glad to hear them. Calling evil trees "Ents" doesn't do Tolkien's creations justice, "nymph" is feminine, and "dryad" sounds too... Nordic old-wizard-like-Merlin, I guess. (Though it'd suit the whole naming scheme here...)


	7. Chapter 7: The Second Night Sarabande

Redeeming Cain  
By Kaj-Nrig

Notes/Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII is the sole property of Square Enix Co., Ltd. I claim none of its characters, scenarios, or affiliations as my own.

**Chapter 7: The Second Night (Sarabande)**

The silence in the air was unnatural. Neither of them moved, but neither did the flock of demons behind Turk. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath; the forest was absolutely still.

Both shot at the same time, and immediately the forest was bathed in the sounds of battle, of tumbling bodies and deafening thunderclaps. Both warriors veered to his right, twisting and ducking as bullets from the other grazed their cheeks and nipped at their clothing. Through the sudden burst of action, Vincent saw a large tree in his path and quickly pressed up against it, out of sight of his pursuer. Several shots slammed into the wood close behind him, but the trunk was thick and held.

The fresh clip was only halfway consumed, but he hastily reloaded regardless. It would be better for him to have a full clip now and waste ammo, he mused as he peeked around the tree, than to need ammo and not have a full-

Turk filled his vision, and Vincent leapt back out into the open forest just as the suited man slashed down on him. Twisting gracefully in the midst of his charge, Turk flowed from swinging to shooting as his left hand came up and fired off three short bursts. His momentum carrying him, Vincent slid backwards along the sparsely-vegetated earth and brought his metal claw up to protect his face. Three harsh dins sounded as he parried each shot, and as each bullet sent a ripple through his body, Vincent faintly recognized, from between the plates of his talons, the form of Turk dashing at him.

Everything suddenly seemed to slow down, and without thinking, Vincent swept upward at the final projectile fired at him even as he brought his own gun up. The round crashed against his claw, sending another swelling of pain through him, and then slowly, ever so slowly, flattened and deformed as the energy mutilated it before Vincent bashed it aside.

And with his claw out of his eyes, Vincent saw, with startling clarity, the amount of open space between Turk and himself. It was so clear, so crystal clear, that he almost didn't recognize his body already adjusting to the situation. He settled the handgun, the sights centered directly in front of his right eye, perfectly aligning the barrel with the center of Turk's head. His finger pulled, the gun kicked back, and Vincent suddenly had the sensation of seeing the bullet, being the bullet, rocketing straight into that open space between Turk and himself. He saw it fly unhindered, he saw Turk's eyes widen in shock as the bullet zoomed closer, closer...

Then suddenly Turk was no longer there, and the bullet slammed into the tree behind him, and Vincent saw a young, blonde-haired woman in Turk's place, dashing at him, reaching him, shoving her palm upward-

He stumbled back as she bombarded him, her thin limbs shooting out with the speed of a cobra strike, snapping at him here and there before he could even react, and he continued to falter under her relentless attack. Then, without a warning, she was stepping on him, her boots slamming into his ribs, his shoulders, his face, and one final kick threw him down as she flew up. Twisting in midair, the blonde-haired, blue-suited woman conjured two handguns from her sleeves and fired at him.

Vincent rolled and rolled, feeling the bullets fling up the dirt just behind him, and hurriedly reached inside his pocket for a glass orb. The cold ball shattered immediately in his grip and he threw the scattered dust on the earth, firing frantically at it. A massive sheet of ice immediately bolted from the ground, creating a thick wall which separated him from whatever it was that Turk had changed into.

Panting heavily, the hunter checked his clip again; the clip was still almost completely full. A thick sheen of perspiration covered his body, and a drop of sweat trailed down his cheek, causing it to sting. Reaching up to wipe the sweat away, his claw came back with a thin stain of blood on it. He hadn't even felt the bullet graze him.

But what the hell had that been? Vincent pondered the idea as he reached into his vest and retrieved another Lightning Materium. His bullet should have bored right through Turk's brain, but instead, the unfathomably quick Turk had somehow... ducked, right at the very last moment, when it was impossible. There was no way anyone could have done that.

Unless...

_He's a shapeshifter._ The thought was very abrupt and brought very little comfort to Vincent. That was the only explanation for the sudden disappearance of Turk and appearance of some strange blonde-haired woman-

"_Short blonde hair... twenties."_

Elena.

----____----

No sooner had Vincent come to this realization than part of the wall of ice he'd erected burst open as Turk charged through, this time appearing as a bald, brown-skinned man with eyes so intensely green that they left a trail of light in their wake.

Backpedaling, Vincent fired at the unbelievably quick Turk, keeping the shapeshifter at bay just long enough for him to grab another of his dwindling supply of Materium and crush it in his grip, letting the sparkling dust settle on his gold-hued fingers. Turk rushed at him again, and Vincent once again found himself retreating, using his acrobatic skills to their fullest extents, narrowly dodging blows here and absorbing blows there.

Turk swung with his right arm, slashing downward at Vincent as the hunter crouched low, and the hunter brought his metallic hand to meet it, resulting in a brilliant spark of light as gold met an electric silver. Turk brought his other hand down, hard, and the two of them were momentarily locked in that struggle.

_How powerful _is_ this thing?_ he wondered offhandedly, snarling slightly as Turk put more weight behind his weapons.

There was a hum then, an unexpected whine as something charged up, and suddenly Turk drew his rod across Vincent's fingers, and Vincent felt his arm being knocked aside as his vision was filled with a scintillating hot light and his ears were filled with the sound of a thousand thunderstorms, and lightning spewed forth from his fingers to fell some unfortunate trees to his left, and then everything was dark again, and he was left immobilized, stunned.

The next thing he could make sense of was Turk, now returned to his former red-haired self, standing beside him. Something prodded his stomach, and as he glanced down, his vision blurry and uneven, he saw Turk's arm, hand, and metal rod.

"It pains me to kill you, Vincent Valentine."

His scream was cut short by a sudden convulsion that just as instantly snapped into rigidity as electric tendrils snaked along every inch of his body. Before long, Vincent felt numb, felt all consciousness begin to fade, felt a black emptiness begin to overcome him... and then he was jarred awake by the sensation of being suddenly thrown off his feet.

As he flew through the air, Vincent tried to shake himself, broke his muscles out of their paralysis, and, looking behind him, twisted his body to avoid crashing into a nearing tree. A series of staccato claps faintly registered from below him. His booted feet caught the tree trunk just as he was about to slam into it, and before he even knew what he was doing, Vincent jumped to a nearby branch, narrowly avoiding a flurry of gunshots.

Vincent shook his head for a moment, trying to get his bearings straight. Taking a moment to catch his breath, the weary hunter looked down below him and saw that Turk had decided to come up and join him.

_Oh, joy…_ With a quick motion, he reloaded his gun and retrieved another container of the powerful minerals.

Turk sprinted up the tree as easily as if he were running downhill, and Vincent quickly slipped into the higher branches, where the thick canopy was. It was dangerous to be up here – besides the nightbirds, there were probably hundreds of bugs and insects, of all shapes and sizes, that could kill him – but since he had yet to be attacked by any of them, he was willing to take his chances.

He had to slow down Turk somehow... The man-woman-thing was simply too quick and agile for him to take on.

The momentary respite was broken as Turk dashed up to meet Vincent, now sporting the same lithe, young frame of the girl whom he assumed was Elena. S/he sprang directly at him, rushing so quickly before bolting away from the barrel of his gun that he could see the violently confident grin on his/her face. Turk disappeared into the dark canopy, and Vincent listened intently to the rush of air as the shapeshifter circled around him. _He's toying with me,_ he realized. And he only had two Materium left.

A crack sounded from his right, and Vincent leapt out of the way, but he barely touched his feet down when another bullet came from behind him. Twisting so quickly that he felt his bones grind slightly, Vincent narrowly avoided a direct blow to his spine. There was a rush of air in front of him as Turk streaked by, and Vincent brought his gun up, but by then the shapeshifter was already gone again, zipping through the trees and using each foothold to increase its speed that much more.

_Damn it. This is getting me nowhere._ Turk shot again from beneath him, and Vincent found himself in yet another game of cat and mouse. The dreary, monotonous world swirled dizzily around him as he was kept on the defensive, narrowly avoiding the seemingly endless hail of bullets that Turk rained on him. The shapeshifter was just too fast for him.

He needed something, something faster-

Inspiration reaching him just before another bullet could, Vincent sprang upward, feeling the hunting eyes of Turk on him, and as he had figured, Turk fired at him just as he twisted and planted his feet on the underside of a thick, luminescent tree branch. Then he spotted it – a clear passage to the forest floor – and Vincent bulleted into that opening, putting as much energy into his descent as possible. It would only give him a few meters of distance at best, but he had to take every inch he could.

Tearing through the thick canopy, he ended up right where he wanted – in the corridor of scored trees that he and Lucrecia had followed earlier. Without hesitation, he rocketed off one tree after the next, pumping his legs furiously to try to gain as much distance as possible-

Leaves exploded as Turk burst through the same canopy, hot on his trail and gaining on him. Sweat stung his eyes, and he felt desperation threatening to seize hold of him, but he knew that if he was to do it, he had to do it now.

Bullets soaring past him matched the retorts from behind him, but Vincent ignored all that. Pulling out one scintillating yellow ball, he leapt off one last tree, tossed the Materium back, twisted in the air and fired quickly once twice thrice-

The entire corridor was suddenly filled with a deafening, roaring whine as if a million thunderbolts had erupted all at once, and it escalated until it seemed to Vincent that he'd gone deaf. A brilliant white light burned his eyes, penetrating past his eyelids and past his irises and seemed to touch his very center of being. Turning away from the brilliant shower of lightning and thunder, Vincent suddenly felt a sharp impact as he made contact with the forest floor, and he realized he had forgotten to keep his footing. Dragging unceremoniously across the earth, Vincent tasted the disgusting yet almost fragrant soil of the Asgard forest as sharp pebbles scraped his face.

As quickly as it had started, the explosion dissipated, and when Vincent opened his eyes again, all he saw were stray tendrils of blue-white lightning that pulsed in the air of the forest where Turk had been. The entire corridor was scorched, some trees sporting holes that had been gouged out by the lightning strikes, some others burnt so horribly that their soft glow was now as dead as the night sky, and some more that had been completely uprooted altogether. It was an awful scene, one of destruction on a scale he had rarely seen.

But what of Turk? It pained Vincent to get up – every part of his body was aching now that the battle was over, and his legs especially seemed on the verge of collapse – but he did so and carefully proceeded to check if the shapeshifter had been struck by the lightning or not.

----____----

"Ahhh..."

The voice was barely a whisper, but in the tremendous silence following the lightning strike, it was as clear as if Turk were standing in front of him. As it was, Vincent found the shapeshifter more than fifty feet back from where the explosion had occurred, likely due to the force of the lightning bolts. Turk's entire left arm was severed at the shoulder, and what little stump was left was a disgusting mass of shredded tissue and pulsing blood. A massive hole – Vincent's arm could have fit through it – had been gouged out of the lower left side of his abdomen, and although there was little in terms of blood, the flesh and clothing for a large area surrounding the wound was charred and cracked. Even Turk's left ear had been partially torn off, the remaining stump nothing more than a ragged, coal-colored protrusion. For the horrific state he was in, though, Turk, now reverted to the form with which he had greeted Vincent, still managed to smile weakly at Vincent as the hunter approached.

"Good... Very, good... Vincent," the shapeshifter spoke. Vincent trained his gun on Turk, but did not fire. He tried to say something, he _wanted_ to say something, however strange that was, to at least acknowledge this worthy adversary in his final moments, but he remained silent. Turk chuckled, coughed, and chuckled again. "Firing upon your Materium... Using... Using the glass orb itself as a medium for the lightning... I would have never considered that. Hah..." He coughed again, but retained the pleasant smile. "I nearly... I nearly avoided it, though... as you can see."

"Our Father, who art in Heaven, blessed by Thy name, thy kingd-"

"Stop..." Turk chided, an amused smile playing at his pale lips. "Do not... speak of God... to me, Vincent."

"Were you Elena?" Vincent asked when one of Turk's coughing fits caused the red hair to turn a damp yellow for a moment. "Was it you who was attacked sixty years ago?"

Turk shook his head, again laughing. "Always so... to the point, Vincent..." With his good arm, Turk lifted himself to rest against a tree. "Alas... I am not her... Sir hunter... I merely took her form."

"Is she the one behind this?" Vincent glanced around suspiciously, checking for signs of the demon horde that had been chasing him just minutes ago.

"Do not fret, Sir hunter..." Turk began. "They ans-" He wheezed and spat out blood. "They answer to me... As long as I live... they will not advance."

"Does that mean you commanded them to attack me in the castle?"

Turk shook his head, but offered no further explanation. "I..." he continued. "I was ordered to attack Elena... fifty-seven years ago... and take her form... She was turned, and then she was staked."

"Why-" Vincent began, but his eyes flickered in realization. Looking down at Turk, Vincent saw that what he suspected was true. "She was turned, and you took her place. The vampire who turned her fooled the villagers into thinking _she_ was the vampire, and they staked her."

Turk nodded, and then retched a mass of blood that spilled over his lips and chin, at which he wiped half-heartedly with his right hand. His time was growing short.

Vincent holstered his firearm and knelt down by the dying creature. "Why? What did you do as Elena? Who is behind all this?"

Turk didn't answer for such a long period of time that Vincent nearly thought him dead. When the shapeshifter did speak, though, he whispered, "'Elena...'" The voice was weak, far away and rounding the final pass before Death's door. "Her parents found 'Elena' in her bedroom... floating in the air... And she vanished... vanished into a radiant brilliance, as if... as if God Himself had lifted her away." Turk laughed again at the concept – God's forgiveness - but it seemed he was also laughing at what the spectacle must have done to the people of the village. "I... I said to them... 'Momma, Papa... I have to go home now.'" And Turk burst into weak but uncontrollable laughter, spitting dribbles of blood at his feet.

It _was_ funny, in a very sardonic, twisted way, Vincent realized. By having the "vampire" – Elena – staked and "Elena" seemingly taken away by God, the true culprit had stripped the residents of Asgard of their fear, had convinced them of their relative security in the harsh Outer Plate.

_But why bother?_ he thought to himself. _Why get rid of their fear only to re-instill it fifty-seven years later?_

The confusion and frustration that had been plaguing Vincent returned in full force, and the hunter fought to control himself.

"Who was the one who bit her, then?"

The question did little to cease Turk's laughing, but Vincent sensed a sudden edge to the sound. Just as with Yuffie in the castle, even the mere mention of the mysterious "other" – the vampire who had turned Yuffie (and Elena as well, apparently) – had caused Turk to become... frightened, even in his dying state.

"Who is she?" Vincent repeated, but even as he spoke, he saw Turk's eyes close, his lips freezing in their perpetual grin. Gritting his teeth, Vincent slammed once on the rough earth and rose. Once again, he was to receive no answer to the one question that truly mattered-

"Sir hunter." Turk's voice was hardly audible anymore, and when Vincent turned back, the shapeshifter was all but dead. He almost passed it off as a ghost, but then Turk's lips moved again. "My heart... My heart belongs... to Yuffie... not...

"not...

"...

"to...

"...

"...

"...her..."

----____----

Turk died then, and the forest erupted as if in the throes of deepest sorrow. Vincent turned away from the dead body and retrieved the final Materium from its resting place. The fog that had limited his vision before had dissipated, and the glow of the ethereal trees had dimmed significantly, yet Vincent could still scarcely see more than thirty feet into the oily blackness of the forest. Howls and hoots of ballistic, animal madness seeped out from that mass of darkness as if it were something alive, and Vincent took only a moment to get his bearings before retreating toward the entrance of the forest.

They were already on him, though. Looking back, he saw that jet-black maw spitting forth its contents, the various monsters and goblins and centipedes that drew closer and closer as each moment passed. He was not going to make it out of this forest.

As he sprinted through the forest, the evils of the forest hounding on him, something pressed into his side, then fell away, then pressed again, then fell back, rocking around with each pounding footfall. It was his final Materium...

A rib or bone or tusk soared past him and embedded itself in his path, forcing him to vault it, losing so much precious time in the process. Cursing to himself, Vincent tore into his vest pocket and ripped the orb out, noting quickly that it seemed to shine a dull rust-red color, and threw it back. He turned, backpedaling but going too fast even for his feet to keep up, and fired as his feet pumped, once twice thrice more and more until his gun was empty-

He was suddenly flying, thrown off his feet by the enormous orange and crimson blast that shattered straight through the forest canopy and reached into the night sky. His eyes were blinded by the sheer energy of the explosion, and the heat that rolled over him made his entire body clench up as clothing was singed and seared. His body met the ground very suddenly, and instead of bouncing back into the air, he was driven along the ground, tumbling and rolling and feeling sharp stones slash into him. There was a sudden shock in his left arm as he snapped to a sudden stop, and something popped out of place, and when he glanced up he saw his metallic arm snagged on yet another tree root, looking a bit longer than usual and the wrist bending awkwardly. The heat wave then intensified and he felt everything suddenly moving again, the tree trapping his arm ripped out of the earth.

As he was dragged through the muck of the forest, he did his best to see what had happened. There was a cloud, then dirt, then debris flying with him, then the forest canopy, then the cloud again, shining through the trees in a tremendous mushroom, and then the orange glare of the fiery detonation, and then from that orange heat rocketed the black silhouette of something shooting right at his head, and the last thing he saw before the stone smashed into his forehead was the massive mushroom cloud that continued to expand into and illuminate the star-dotted sky.

----____----

Vincent Valentine nearly didn't wake up, and when he did, he found himself in tremendous pain. His head seemed to pulse and throb a thousand times every second, the entire right side of his face itched incessantly, and what little he could hear came through in a muddled, sticky, watery way in his right ear and not at all in his left. His entire outfit was sufficiently shredded, revealing scores of burn marks all over his body, and his glove was little more than a few thin scraps of burnt leather. His right arm from the elbow down itched viciously, and Vincent had the distinct impression that if he looked at his fingers, he would see only five stumps of coal. His left arm fared no better, for it felt like a tourniquet had been bound tightly around his shoulder while his blood had been superheated and boiled; the searing plasma pooled around his elbow and he didn't need to look at it to know that it was likely dislocated.

There were no more creatures rushing to devour him, though, which was a fortunate turn of events. If he was lucky, or if God was feeling particularly gracious, then every single one of them had been caught in the explosion and the world was now cleansed of them. He sincerely hoped that was the case. Lying on the forest floor, paralyzed with pain, Vincent fought the urge to spring up and make for the forest entrance – movement now would serve no purpose other than to further aggravate his already abhorrent wounds. And from what he could see of the sky, the moon was now nearing the horizon again.. Dawn was approaching, which meant that Lucrecia was safe, at least for the day.

So he bade his time, waiting patiently and closing his eyes to feel his body. His muscles slowly, gently worked, dissolving away the broiled fibrous tissues little by little. The charred black crust that was his skin eventually began to flake away, cracking into gruesome fissures that zigzagged all across his arm before falling off completely. The world became less a distorted warble and more of a supreme silence, interrupted by nothing except the occasional whisper of the breeze. His head suddenly felt warm, and it was only then that he realized his hair had been completely burnt off. He tried to picture himself without a single lock of hair, and the vision provided some unexpected humor in his current dismal state.

After what felt like lifetimes lying on the damp earth, Vincent finally decided to examine his right hand. The fresh skin there felt the tiniest twitches in his muscle, felt every particle of dust in the air as it moved about. He touched his index finger to his middle finger and each twinged as if it had just been dipped in scalding water. Still, at least his fingers were fingers and not simply overcooked extensions of his body.

Scanning his arm, he saw that the pink and purple flesh extended all the way to his elbow, and every inch of it was warped and unnaturally smooth. His veins stood out sharply against the thin membrane, allowing him undisguised view of the damage to the insides of his arm – the top layer of muscle was colored a disgusting gray from being cooked by the firestorm he had unleashed earlier.

It was all very interesting, but Vincent realized he had better things to worry about. Lucrecia, for example. Hissing in agony as he felt every single brush of the wind on the way up, Vincent stood and scanned his surroundings. Luckily enough, he had been thrown almost straight to the forest entrance; the opening was hardly more than a few hundred feet away to his south.

After popping his left arm back into place, Vincent began the search for his gun, which had been knocked out of his hand sometime between the explosion and his waking up.

The forest was dreadfully quiet, though, which brought about that same feeling of unease he had felt when he and Lucrecia had first entered the forest. It was disquieting for such a deadly environment to feel so tame and lifeless.

He was only a few meters further from the entrance, searching the ground for a dull, artificial blackness or a metallic reflection of the burgeoning light, when Yuffie suddenly landed between him and his exit. He tensed for a moment, seeing the furious, pained look in her eyes, and his eyes quickly scanned the ground one last time in a last-ditch effort to find his gun.

His efforts were for naught; the vampiress brought out the firearm and hurled it angrily at his feet. He reached down gingerly and cautiously, grasping the familiar handle while muttering a quick blessing, his eyes not straying from her skinny form. She had changed back to her much more utilitarian garb, and he was surprised to find that he now felt more comfortable seeing her like this than in her last attire.

"You killed him," were her first words, spoken in such a quietly forlorn pitch that Vincent could not even dream of doubting her sincerity.

He nodded once. "Why are you here?" he asked, his voice breaking into a grimace when he moved to holster his weapon. His flesh had become fuller and wasn't nearly as discolored as it had been, but he could still feel every single twitch of muscle or rustle of wind with acute sensitivity.

Yuffie did not answer him for a long time; by the time she did speak, the sun was nearly on the horizon. "I couldn't find his body."

"The sun will rise soon," he cautioned, though he found it massively perturbing that any bit of his sentiment was being spent on this vampire girl.

"When those monsters went crazy in the castle, he protected me. He always protected me. He was the only one who ever protected me."

Vincent didn't know whether to respond or keep quiet. It was impossible for him to gauge what the young girl would do.

"Why do you hate me so much?"

The question took him off-guard, and before he could help himself, he was asking himself the same question.

...but he had already asked himself that question so many times before. There was no need to go through the ruminations one more time.

"'We are all transient guests,'" he quoted, feeling the simple truth of the words slipping through his lips of its own volition.

"You told me that in the church. What does that mean?"

He shrugged slightly, the briefest of smiles forming on his lips. "Transient? It means 'momentary.' Fleeting. Someone told me the same thing long ago."

"Who?" Yuffie asked as she leaned back on a tree and bent down to rub her bare legs. The action was very distracting, but Vincent had the distinct impression that she was clueless to this.

"...God." He could see the disbelief in her eyes when she looked up, but he didn't say anything more.

"God." She nearly spat out the name. "You... stupid religious nuts." To his astonishment, her glowing eyes – gray again – began to waver, as if... no, _because_ she was on the verge of crying. "Wh-What the _fuck_ did I ever do to you!?" she snapped, her voice full of repressed resentment. Crossing her arms, Yuffie looked away from him in a vain attempt to hide her tears. "I-It's not like I _chose _to be a vampire! If... If _you_ had just kept your hands to yourself, Vincent, I would've never-"

She sniffled once and regained her composure, wiping quickly at her eyes with one hand before turning back to him. He noticed the way her hands crawled down to her stomach and seemed almost poised to claw at the flesh there. _So. That's how it was. _"Vampires deserve the right to live, too. Even me. Why can't God see that?"

Vincent sighed and strode past her toward the small expanse of light. "I know why you did it, Yuffie," he said as he came to the exit and faced the northern hills of Asgard. _And I'm sorry I remind you of him,_ he added to himself. "But power, immortality, and vengeance will never undo what was done to you. The only thing you can do is let it go."

As the vampire and her hunter proceeded their different ways, the moon in the sky above continued to wane, and all that was left in the air of Asgard was the unnatural silence that pervaded deep into every living citizen's mind, entwining into their dreams a sense of the abyss, of an emptiness filled not even by the howls and cries of beasts.

**Chapter 7: The Second Night (Sarabande) END**

**Notes:**

Materium – I had originally integrated Materia into the story with the intent of giving them some sort of pseudo-scientific properties: they were meant to be extremely unstable elements (the "-ium" was meant to reflect this) that reacted vigorously with the slightest application of energy – the kinetic energy of a bullet, for example, or the friction that comes from rubbing your fingers together. In the end, though, they may as well be balls of magical pixie dust that Vincent uses to perform cool special effects.


	8. Chapter 8: The Second Night Minuet

Redeeming Cain  
By Kaj-Nrig

Notes/Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII is the sole property of Square Enix Co., Ltd. I claim none of its characters, scenarios, or affiliations as my own.

**Chapter 8: The Second Night (Minuet)**

By the time Vincent made it back to Lucrecia's home, the sun was already breaking past the horizon. Shafts of sunlight were glancing down the hills of Asgard, though they had yet to reach the enclosed town. The dirt road leading back to the house played host to various hastily-tossed tools – sickles, torches, and the like – as if the villagers had fled back to town in a panic, though from what, Vincent wasn't sure.

It couldn't have been a forest monster; for one, he was sure that all the forest creatures had been summoned to the castle, and for another, there were no bodies or severed limbs or splatters of blood. Nothing. In fact, he doubted if they had fled the scene at all – the tools were sharp, and sharp tools, especially when mixed with massive crowds, tended to draw blood.

But he had much more important things to worry about, like ensuring the safety of his client, Lucrecia Crescent.

He leapt over the fence surrounding Lucrecia's property as soon as he could, gasping in pain as his limbs scraped against the burnt fabric of his clothing, and made as quickly for the house as he could. As he strode across the yard, Vincent spotted Lucrecia fidgeting nervously on the front porch, and when she glanced up, her eyes dripping tears of equal parts fear and concern, he found that he had no other option but to smile a small, reassuring smile.

Before he could do more, though, she was up and rushing over to him, scanning him up and down, and screaming. "Oh, God, Vincent! What happened to you!? Are you okay!? I-I saw the explosion, a-and I thought... What happened!? How did you make it out of there!?"

She caught Vincent in a passionate embrace, causing his skin to suddenly flare up and his eyes to roll back, and for a moment, he lapsed into blackness. When he came to, he was on his knees and Lucrecia was apologizing profusely, her hands caught between wanting to offer help and not wanting to injure him further. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Vincent! I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorr-"

Vincent nodded as best he could, bringing up a hand to quiet her incessant sobbing. "I'm fine," he rasped, the words issuing forth from a dry throat. "I'm fine," he repeated and gently pushed her back to gain some space.

"O-o-okay, Vincent. Wh... uh, wh-what happened? After I left?" Lucrecia asked, but Vincent ignored the question.

"Are you alright?" he wondered, motioning to her feet, which were wrapped in a layer of gauze.

"O-oh, what- oh, these? Yes, I'm fine, I'm fine, Vincent, some stones cut me on the way back is all, but-"

Vincent nodded to her and turned back toward the gate. "Good. Then stay in the house," he commanded above her concerned questions. "The sun's up. You'll be safe."

"Wait, where are you going!?" she finally shouted as he got to the fence.

"To check on the good Doctor."

----____----

Even before entering the clinic, Vincent knew that this would be his final talk with Father Hebner – the sun was on the verge of illuminating the clinic, and if he didn't get to the Father, the morning sunlight streaming through the large glass ceiling would. There was no doubt in Vincent's mind that Michael Hebner was almost (if not) completely turned by now, and Vincent's only fear was that he would be unable to coax any more information from the priest.

He almost felt bad for not considering the safety of the good Doctor.

As he opened the door of the glass-roofed building, Vincent caught the sound of something crashing,and he instantly dashed down the main corridor and turned a right at the intersection. A man screamed, and he doubled his pace until he came to the Father's room, his metal boots scratching the floor as he slid to a halt and pulled out his firearm-

The stinging in his body caught up with him, and he doubled over as dizziness once again threatened to claim him. Vincent shuddered, attempting to fight off the sensation; before long, he found he could open his eyes to observe what had happened in the Father's room.

Said Father was kneeling above the body of Doctor Fisher, clutching a scalpel with one hand and pinning down both of the Doctor's wrists with the other. The scalpel was positioned perilously close to the Doctor's throat, and Father Hebner's newly-acquired fangs were plainly visible. The hunter glanced into the corner of the room - before the nausea caused his eyes to swirl, he noticed a small semicircle of burn marks surrounding it.

"What's going on!?" he demanded, his voice faltering as the last vestiges of pain caused his jaw to lock up.

The Doctor was the first to speak, his tear- and spit-spattered lips calling out, "H-h-help me, the Father's b-b-b-been-"

"Quiet!"

There was a sudden crack as Father Hebner's talons slashed across the Doctor's cheek, and Vincent fired on instinct, making the Father's right shoulder lurch back violently. Through his quickly-clearing vision, Vincent saw the scalpel in the Father's hand clatter into the back of the room, leaving Doctor Fisher free to scramble to his feet and lurch toward the door. "Hold, you!" Vincent commanded, throwing his left hand out to catch the Doctor's bloodied coat before he could escape. Keeping his gun trained on Father Hebner, Vincent carefully entered the room.

The room was a mess, with medical equipment strewn all about. The bed Father Hebner had been sleeping in was overturned, as was the tray holding all his belongings. The floor in that little corner of the room was littered with specks of brown and black – burnt skin. Vincent noted the semicircle of burnt flooring once again, and he glanced down at the Doctor.

It was then that he finally noticed the small stain on the Doctor's pants and the stench of sex radiating from the man, hidden as it was beneath all the sweat and fear.

"Father," he addressed the writhing man on the floor. Father Hebner, for his part, bravely rose to his knees despite the wound in his shoulder, his face contorted in pain.

"Y... Yes... Vincent." Father Hebner looked at him, fearful, hungry, furious, but mostly ridden with guilt. His eyes shined a dull amber color.

"What happened here?" Vincent asked, making sure to track every movement of the vampiric priest. Doctor Fisher scrabbled at his claw and voiced his complaints, but Vincent promptly slammed his face into the door frame and threw his unconscious body into the hallway.

The Father made a quick and sudden move, causing Vincent to step back and squeeze a little tighter on the trigger, but it turned out to be nothing more than Father Hebner getting to his feet. "I see..." the priest said, noticing Vincent's backward step. "I... I mean you no harm, Vincent..." He brought his palms up to be examined, then showed them to Vincent; the otherwise pale flesh sported what looked like ugly, deformed grill marks. "These both came from my cross," he explained, chuckling lightly, self-deprecatingly, to himself. "Am I the new Cain now?"

Vincent shook his head slowly, but his gaze never strayed from Father Hebner. "Tell me what happened, Father. You don't have much time left."

"I awoke... to voices. Inhuman voices." Father Hebner flinched as if something had just bit him. From his entire demeanor, the priest seemed more intent on escaping the persistent, adamant, and disembodied voices than telling him anything... much less the truth. _Will I get _any _useful information from him?_

"The voices of Satan," he confirmed. "Then what?"

Father Hebner paused to collect his thoughts before continuing. "The Doctor came in, holding one of my parishioners hostage. Jeanne Devoveum. He... He'd poured holy water all around me. See... Over there." He pointed back toward the corner of the room, where the rust-brown semicircle lay. "And he told me to bite her... bite her, o-or he would rape her. For some stupid- some _damned_ experiment of his. I- I couldn't, Vincent, I simply couldn't, and I told him so, but then he began to tear her clothes off, and I- I had to say yes!"

Vincent's eyes narrowed suspiciously at that, checking the corners of his vision for any sudden movements. There were no one else here besides himself, the Doctor, and Father Hebner. No reanimated corpses of young girls had suddenly risen to attack him. He waited patiently.

"H-he brought her over to me, and I- I- I-"

"Did you bite her?" Vincent asked, rudely cutting off the Father's blabbering.

"No! I told you, I could never do that!" Father Hebner retorted. "When he was close enough, I- I charged him! Even through all the horrible... all the _burning _pain of the holy water, I managed to knock him down. I- I told her to go home, t-t-to get some help, get the sheriffs, and I held him here... I'd only been waiting a few minutes before you arrived."

Vincent considered the man's story, then nodded in satisfaction. "Very well." The stench of sex and arousal on the good Doctor was more than enough corroborating evidence, and the allegation that he had been planning to use them as guinea pigs hardly came as a surprise. _He has the right to poke and prod something like it's a piece of cattle,_ he recalled with disgust.

"So... what now?" asked Father Hebner, once again staring at his hands; this time, he seemed almost morbidly fascinated with the inner workings of his newly-sprouted talons. _Small wonder, _Vincent mused. _Not every day you become a vampire._

Keeping his gun up, Vincent stepped back out into the hallway. "What more can you tell me of Yuffie?"

"Nothing more than I already have," Father Hebner answered as he slowly followed.

"There was another Vincent here sixteen years ago, around the same time Yuffie left Asgard, correct?" He took the Father's shocked expression as an affirmation and barreled on before the priest could answer. "What did he do to her?"

"I- I'm not sure. He never did anything the other kids didn't."

"He was around her age?"

"Yes, he was- Vincent, where are you going with this?"

"Where is he now?"

"Dead. Why? What does he have to do with this?"

Vincent shook his head. "You're sure of this."

"Positive! We drive a-" Father Hebner paused, shuddering as he thought about his next words. "We... We drive a stake through all of our deceased." The priest dropped to his knees, clutching himself even as he shivered uncontrollably. "I- I'm so-"

Vincent cut him off with a shushing finger. "You stake all of your deceased? Why not Melantha?"

"She..." Father Hebner shuddered as the memory of the ghastly perversion of his Melantha fluttered in his mind's eye. "...I thought I could save her... that G- G- that He could help turn her back. P-please, Vincent... I'm so cold... I-It's unbearable!" He sobbed and gazed pleadingly at Vincent. "Please," he begged. "Please help me..."

"You'll feel warm if you drink," Vincent replied, motioning to his neck with his claw. "But I would have to kill you, Father."

"I would welcome that," the pastor countered. "This chill... I must be feeling what the dead feel."

"That you are. You must want some warm sunlight, then."

It was only then that Father Hebner seemed to notice the firearm that had never strayed from his heart. He sniffed once and got to his feet, glumly following Vincent into the hallway.

----____----

"Truly?" The Father chuckled mockingly. "The vampire bit Elena, then had this Turk creature impersonate her. After that, she manipulated the townspeople into thinking _Elena_ was the vampire and staking _her._"

"Yes," Vincent answered, grunting as his left arm buckled slightly from pulling the unconscious Justinian Fisher.

"That doesn't surprise me as much as I think it should," Father Hebner said with a resigned sigh. "She must have had this planned for decades."

They were nearing the clinic entrance, Vincent keeping a few feet back from the Father to track his motions. Behind him, being dragged unceremoniously along the clinic's tiled floor, was Doctor Fisher, a large and bruised bump marring his already off-putting face. Above them, the sky shone through the glass ceiling, colored a quickly-lightening cerulean.

Father Hebner paused just as the two of them stepped out onto the clinic's front porch. "You were right, Vincent," he muttered. "It does feel much warmer out here. Look." He pointed to the eastern hills. "The sun will strike the ridge of that hill soon." The priest-turned-vampire faced the hunter. "Vincent," he said, his voice suddenly void of all cynicism. "As a man of G... G... _God_..." he choked out, "I feel I should apologize to you. For yesterday. It was disrespectful of me to judge you in His place."

Vincent smiled then, a small but genuine smile. "You have nothing to apologize for, Father. If anything, I would hope that your prediction comes true." He holstered his firearm and came to stand beside the priest.

"Do you think He will forgive me, though?" Vincent asked after a lengthy lull in the conversation.

Father Hebner laughed loudly and good-heartedly at the question. "Vincent," he said, "there are so many things wrong with that question. First of all, it would not bode very well for me if I said no. And second of all, I would not be a very good believer in the Son Jesus if I said no. And thirdly, if I said no, what would that say about all my years of being a pastor?"

"Hm... Fair enough."

The priest faced Vincent for the final time, asked, "May I borrow this?" and took the hunter's crucifix. Slowly dropping to his knees even as the holy cross burned his fingers, he faced to the east.

"Goodbye, Vincent."

"Goodbye, Father Hebner."

"G... God bless you."

"God bless you."

As the sun rose over the eastern hill in a glorious and brilliant shower of light, Father Michael Hebner felt his skin burst into flames. His eyes were filled with a light unlike any other, and in the few moments before his death, that light melted away to reveal to him the true shape, the true formlessness, of God.

"Look, Vincent!" echoed the hills of Asgard. "This is the power of faith..."

**Chapter 8: The Second Night (Minuet) END**

**A/N:** One important scene I omitted from this chapter was the altercation between Father Hebner and Doctor Fisher. It may or may not make it into subsequent chapters, but I felt that the story simply flowed better without that scene. I might add it in if I rewrite this chapter, but I think I like it the way it currently is.

**Notes:**

Jeanne Devoveum – From "Joan of Arc" ("Jeanne d'Arc") and "devoveo," Latin for "to sacrifice." I had originally intended for her first name to be "Piaca" ("sacrifice"), but it just sounded silly. Not that the new name sounds any better.


End file.
